Set in Stone
by Cashmere67
Summary: "For a tree to become tall it must grow tough roots among the rocks."
1. Promise, Promise: Part One

**Head Gamemaker Crane**

* * *

It's the Finale.

The girl from District Four, Evadne, is at the top of the staircase, equipped with a machete in one hand and a knife in the other. The staircase diverges into two smaller ones, curving back around and underneath the main one. On the right staircase is the boy from District Two, Grant, with the larger sword clamped in both of his hands. He holds it out in front of him, pointing it right at Evadne. On the staircase to the left is the District Two girl, Nike.

She stands there with her own two knives, one pointed at Evadne and one pointed at Grant. At this point, it's odd to see District partners still odd, but if you were to assess their tactic throughout the Game, you'd think differently. They kept each other alive, waiting for this particular moment. Waiting for the moment where it would come down to the two of them, so that they can fight each other.

It's morbid. It's twisted. But, it calls for a good show. Grant and Nike single-handedly took care of the Career alliance, slitting each one of their throats while they were sleeping. But, Evadne caught onto them. It was coming down the Final Six, leaving only the Careers alive. They weren't aware that the two other remaining tributes killed each other off, which they would have found out once they woke up. Grant and Nike knew, however, and used it to their advantage. They let them fall asleep without knowing no one else was alive, planning to kill them all in their sleep.

The night before they did it, she escaped, just leaving the pair from One and her District partner. Grant and Nike killed all of them, just leaving Evadne out there somewhere in the arena.

And here they are. Evadne at the top of the staircase, Nike and Grant at the bottom.

Grant slams the point of his sword into the stone, the sound resonating through the area they're all in. Nike takes a step forward, always being the more assertive one. She took lead of the Career group, wanting all the fame to herself. Once Grant sees her advancing, though, he begins to speed up and walk towards Evadne. Evadne surveys the two of them, yielding her weapons in front of her.

When Grant basically lunges at Evadne, she leaps backwards, landing perfectly on the heels of her feet. Grant swings his sword, slamming it right down to the ground. There's another loud banging sound, and before Grant can recoil his sword, Evadne slams her foot down on it. It's long enough for Grant to struggle to get her off it, and as Evadne sends her fist into his face, he has no time to fight back. He stumbles backwards, his nose immediately starting to bleed. It drips down his face, sliding down so quickly he has no time to react before Evadne strikes again.

This time, she sends the machete upwards through his abdomen. She leaves the blade in his body, and with her foot, kicks him backwards. He falls down the stairs, his body rolling down every step. It goes down the staircase Nike is on, and as she watches her District partner's dead body roll past her, she doesn't even blink.

She shoots Evadne a glare, Evadne refocusing herself. She only has one knife now, while Nike has two. Nike wastes no time, sprinting right up the stairs, her hair flowing behind her. She tackles Evadne, but Evadne manages to wrap her arms around Nike, keeping herself standing up. They pull at each other's hair, swipe at each other, and thrash.

The only thing that works is when Evadne sends her fist flying into Nike's jaw. Nike sends her own fist into Evadne's throat, but Evadne stiffens herself, slamming her knife downwards now. As I look at Nike, I see that the knife came into contact with her hand, piercing right through the skin and bone. The knife's lodged into her hand, Nike's knife now on the ground. With one flick of her foot, Evadne sends the knife to the side, not letting Nike try to get it.

With Nike's other knife, she swipes it forward, desperately trying to hurt Evadne. Evadne leaps to the side, grabbing Nike's wrist in the process. She pulls her arm, yanking the knife right out of it, sending Nike down to the ground. Nike squirms around on the ground, giving any last effort she can to get away from Evadne.

But, when Evadne drives the knife right into Nike's skull, I know that it's all over. And so does Evadne, who now has a victor's smile on her face. She drops the knife, blood splattered all over her arena suit.

That's what a victor should look like.

Fierce. Confident. Lethal.

It's victors like these that inspire me. Despite it only being my first year, I have come up with a few designs of arenas myself. Every once in a while, I come up with a new one, all with different tricks, muttations, and scenery. There's the frozen tundra, the haunted carnival, the bombed-out city… But those won't do.

And I know exactly what will. Just like Evadne's Finale, it will be quite the show. Anything I do will be quite the show.

I won't fail to impress the Capitol.

That is the promise I made to them, after all.

And I intend to keep my promise.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There you have it – Set in Stone!

So, quick information; 70th Hunger Games, Gamemaker Crane.

Regarding submissions, the form is on my profile, or you can PM me and I'll give you the form. Quicker you fill it out, quicker I'll close off that desired spot. I don't accept reservations or anything of the sort, so I'll leave the spots open until I receive a tribute that I really like and then will close that spot off.

I think that makes sense. Just send in your tributes and I'll let you know if I'll accept it. Also, I'll keep the closed-off spots on my profile so that everyone knows what's available and what's not.

I think that's it for a Prologue; Part One, anyway. This was just an introduction and opening, and the next will be with a blog and whatnot. I understand that this might be a bit boring to read, but I never cared for Prologues; they serve their purpose, but there's more to come, so.

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, just PM me and I'll get back to you!

That's it from Cashmere67.


	2. Promise, Promise: Part Two

**Livia  
25 Years Old  
Avox. **

* * *

The large doors swing open, a Peacekeeper at each side. They turn to face each other, everyone looking right in between them. There's a hallway, a red carpet rolling out of it and down the staircase in front of it. The Peacekeepers raise their right hand to salute, and as the sounds of high-heels clacking against the floor gets louder, we all anticipate her arrival.

The arrival of the most recent victor, Evadne Caldera of District Four. She won just a year ago.

As she appears in the doorway, she pauses, letting the applause from the other victors fill the air. She stands there, her head raised high and her hands to her side. All of the victors clap politely for Evadne, but it's mostly the victors from District Four who are giving her the biggest welcoming.

She is one of them, after all. She is now a victor for District Four.

One step at a time, she descends the stairs, her curled blonde hair bouncing with every step. She reaches the end of the red carpet, stepping onto the tiled flooring now. The victors from District Four have their own large table in the center of the mirrored room, being the center of attention. The other Districts have their own tables as well, starting with District One and ending with District Twelve.

All of the victors go quiet now, the room completely silent except for Evadne's heels. She takes her seat at the head of the table for District Four, and as each of her fellow victors nod their heads, a smile appears on her face. A confident smile, one that goes from cheek-to-cheek.

They aren't always that excited, though. Some cry. Some weep. Some shout. But, from time to time, you come across a victor like Evadne – confident, refined, and stoic. She's the victor that the Capitol wants, the one they want the rest to act like. She hasn't been fazed by the Hunger Games, and from the looks of it, it seems like she never will be.

She's right at home now.

Finnick Odair, the male who won only a few years earlier than her, reaches over, whispering something into her hear. She giggles, peering over her shoulder to the District One table. She goes back to looking at her own table, the smile only growing wider. Soon, she grabs the utensils in front of her, gesturing for the feast to begin.

All at once, the victors grab their own utensils. Now that the whole ceremony is over, they begin to eat, chatting among one another. I scan each table, making sure that each one of them has everything they need; knives, forks, enough water. If they look discontent with what's in front of them, it's my job to bring them whatever they would like.

More food, more drink, a different napkin. That's all I'm here for.

It's been that way for a few years now. They prefer ushering in new Avoxes to be the waitresses for these events, but for me, I have seen quite a few. Each year, there's a new victor, a new ceremony for each one of them. They walk down from the staircase in the center of this room, headed right towards their District's table in the center.

I just see the same victors in the center too often. It's usually the victors from Districts One, Two, and Four in the center, welcoming a new one home. Welcoming a new one that won the Hunger Games, now having the esteemed title as a victor and mentor. This is only one of the grand events in which they are officially declared a victor.

It is called a Victor's Banquet for a reason. This whole feast is made specifically for each victor, with their own favorite foods as main courses and the accessories matching their District. This year, there are starfishes and seashells along the edges of the blue colored tablecloth. As a gift, the Capitol has provided each victor with a string bracelet, a trident charm on it.

It's the least they could do. Give them incentive for coming to this, but even then, they didn't have a chance. It's a requirement to attend these Banquets, even if you only have one victor, like District Twelve. That man, Haymitch, just stays put, and when the victors are allowed to mingle with other Districts, he drifts towards District Eleven.

To no surprise, the victors from One, Two, and Four all come together, joking around and filling the room with laughter. It's quite the cliquey event, but there's not much you can do – we tend to flock towards similar people as natural instinct. That's why I simply stay where I am, waiting for someone to wave me over for assistance.

My attention goes to the sibling pair of victors from District One, Cashmere and Gloss. They get up one after another, each stride they talk making the other victors look. Everyone is now glancing at them now, not wanting to completely stare. From up here, I have the perfect view, being able to see each victor and everything they do. It has its perks.

Cashmere grips her fingertips around the back of Finnick's chair, planting a kiss on the boy's cheek. Finnick kisses Cashmere back, their hands interloping into one another's. Gloss goes over to Evadne, and as she places her hand in his, he lowers his head to kiss the back of her hand politely. I can't hear their conversation, but I can tell from their faces that it's nothing significant. The siblings from District One probably only got up to direct everyone's attention onto them, so that they do not let Evadne have it all to herself.

There's enough attention to pass around, anyway. Last year, when the male from District Two, Spike Vaderian, won his Games, these two pulled the same stunt. Cashmere got up, kissing him on the cheek, and Gloss shook his hand. For the first time in Panem history, two siblings won consecutive Hunger Games. They still want to relish in the attention and fame that they got for setting a first-time record.

And the Capitol will be more than glad to give them the attention they want. As will the victors.

To some, victory itself is not enough.

There's still more that can be attained, whether material gains or not.

There's always something more out there.

And victors most certainly do not limit themselves.

* * *

**District One**

Male: Larron Arlett, 18.

Female: Ines Maiva, 18.

**District Two**

Male: Darien Faust, 18.

Female: Caelia Harlow, 18.

**District Three**

Male: Gage Orsini, 18.

Female: Emery Adrion, 16.

**District Four**

Male: Trent Ethillion, 18.

Female: Darya Mercado, 18.

**District Five**

Male: Garret Orson, 18.

Female: Clara Novisont, 17.

**District Six**

Male: Zimmer Hexley, 18.

Female: Liora Marcette, 16.

**District Seven**

Male: Dalton Taylor, 15.

Female: Salya Ionatti, 17.

**District Eight**

Male: Wick Cresswell, 17.

Female: Cerise Hessian, 18.

**District Nine**

Male: Riel Seiholdt, 16.

Female: Ardell Chanson, 18.

**District Ten**

Male: Veles Ryman, 14.

Female: Taima Larkin, 17.

**District Eleven**

Male: Trevor Santos, 17.

Female: Daisy Mills, 13.

**District Twelve**

Male: Allan Barre, 14.

Female: Lavender Argus, 16.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

Those are the links to the Set in Stone blog and the mentor blog. They can also be found on my profile.

Some questions on them, yeah? I'll save the personal questions for later.

_From the tribute blog, who stood out to you? Any favorites just from that?_

Some general comments would be nice to read, too.

Oh, I should talk about submissions. It was difficult to choose only 24 tributes out of all of the submissions I received. I got more than I usually do, and so I had to really think about each tribute and who I would want to write. Don't take it personally that I'm not using your tribute or anything. I don't want to offend anyone by not accepting their tribute, either.

I put a lot of thought into my decisions.

But, anyway, that's it from me on here. Enjoy the second part of the Prologue and keep an eye out for another update.


	3. Reaping: Part One

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Caelia Harlow  
District Two Female, 18 Years Old  
Before Reapings**

* * *

"Did you see that?"

Zelena gasps, her hands clapping over her mouth. She sits back in the chair, going to wrap her hair up in a bun. Switching from the television to Zelena, I look at both of them, getting more satisfaction from watching Zelena's reactions to this Game in particular. I've watched this one in particular countless times – it is Enobaria's Games, after all – but this is the first time Zelena has seen it. When Enobaria brings her knife down into the boy's chest, Zelena props her elbows on top of her knees, watching attentively.

I already have this memorized.

Every tribute, every death, every placement. Enobaria's is just one of many that I've accustomed myself to, memorizing every bit of it. Part of it because I do find some enjoyment in watching these Games, but on the other hand, it's to learn. It's to gain some background knowledge before going into the Hunger Games myself.

And today is the today.

The day where I volunteer. The day where I accept the challenge of being the volunteer that was chosen from the Academy. But, that's just to cover up what I'm really volunteering for. That's not what they want to hear, is it? That I'm just another female volunteer with a lost cause and some hopeful ambitions?

Of course not.

They want me to be a patriotic volunteer. One that is doing it for the honor, for the fame, for the satisfaction of fighting and killing for my District. That's what everyone wants to hear in District Two, apparently. No one cares about some girl with a strange father and a screwed up family.

On the screen, Enobaria is about to engage in what she's known for – when she literally rips the throat out of a tribute. She pounces on him, pins his arms down, and just as she teases the boy with some words, there's a noise downstairs. At this point, Enobaria's mouth is already on the boy's throat, but then we hear footsteps.

"Girls?" The voice calls out, and I instantly know it's my father. Sometimes, I forget that it's only him left in the house besides Zelena and me; occasionally, Jayce will just stroll on in, but I forget that my mother isn't here anymore. She's gone now.

I just have to accept it.

Scrambling to get the remote, Zelena turns off the television, knowing that we'd get in trouble if he saw us watching the Hunger Games. He was never a fan of them – with his pacifist nature, and all, which just comes with being as holy as he is. Besides, even if he did see, he has caught me doing worse thing before.

Much, much worse things.

The door opens slowly, and as Zelena and I sit on separate chairs, my father stares back at us. "What are you two up to?" He asks, gripping another cross in his hand. He must've just come back from having another one of his preaching sessions – mass, that's what they call it. I've never really cared enough to learn the terminology.

It's embarrassing enough being related to him.

Being related to a man that refuses to accept either of us as his daughter, the idea of having children completely going against everything he stands for. It's his fault, anyway. I blame him for a lot; the way people treat me because of what he does, what people say, how people see us as a family.

Even though I've been spending more time with Jayce, people still don't see me as what I am today. Jayce has the money, the fame, the life that I always wanted. I tried living with him a few times, but Zelena was never comfortable, so we came back to my father's house. Still, I see him a lot, actually, but something still feels off.

Whenever we're in public, everyone's staring. I might as well give them a good show if they're staring.

"Just being girls, daddy," I say, making sure my voice is whiney enough. He nods his head, the look on his face showing no interest in actually talking to us. He's always worrying about what we're doing, especially in private. Whenever I'm alone, he usually catches me with someone, whether Zelena or not.

Usually, it's just some random boy of District Two. My father doesn't approve of that, either, but that's just hypocritical of him. He had me and Zelena by mistake, so he can't really judge me like everyone else does. I wouldn't get pregnant, anyway; I'm not that stupid.

I only do it to feel wanted. To feel like I actually have a place in this District.

It distracts me from what my life is really like.

"Behave, now."

The door closes behind him, and once I know we're in the clear, I make a face to Zelena. She laughs uncontrollably, falling off her chair and onto my bed besides her. She lies there, still laughing, her hands over her stomach. Looking at her, I realize that after today, she'll be alone with our father. All of his attention will then be on her – until I return home, that is.

Then, the attention will be all on me.

But, until then, I feel bad for Zelena. She doesn't think I'm being selfish by volunteering, even though I feel like it is. In a way, me volunteering affects this family. It damages the reputation of my father – the one who preaches nonviolence and opposes the Hunger Games – as well as my sister, the one who has only recently found her place.

The one I vowed to protect. To keep safe. She might be older than me, but I still find a need to treat her as something closer than a sibling… A friend? No. She's more than a friend and a sister.

"He seemed more antsy than usual," Zelena jokes, staring up at my ceiling. "Still haven't told him about you volunteering, eh?"

"What do you think?" I ask, smirking. "He'd probably prop me up on one of those crosses he has in his room on the spot."

Zelena laughs, pushing herself up from the bed and leaning on her elbows. She looks at me, her laugh silencing down, her lips turning into half a frown. "Yeah, you're right. He'd be mad."

Tilting my head, I stare back at her, not really knowing what she means. The way she said it, the way her tone was, just makes me feel even worse about it all. I don't want to leave her, but at this point, I don't have a choice. I have to volunteer for her, for me, for the District… I have to volunteer for a lot.

Or, that's what they think. But, it's more than volunteering for my District. It's volunteering to prove myself, to show that I'm more than the priest's daughter. That I might have a dead mother and a disreputable aura about me in the District.

In District Two, people see me the wrong way. I know what they say about me; that I'm deranged, that I'm a whore, that I'm weird.

To everyone here, I've always been the weird girl.

The one that everyone judged.

But, they'll see. They'll see who I truly am and what I'm truly like. I'll be more than the weird girl, or the priest's daughter, or the promiscuous girl, or the thief's girlfriend.

I'll be the girl that turned out to be the victor.

* * *

**Clara Peronne  
District One Victor, 35 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

"As you all know, Gloss and I have been bestowed with the honor of mentoring this year."

Leaning forward from the chair, I make a face to Vanora, who makes a face back. She sticks out her tongue, and I tilt my head upwards, mocking the way Cashmere speaks down to us all. She's always so uptight, so sure of herself. Vanora begins to chuckle, the laugh growing louder and louder. She was never the subtle type of person.

Especially when it comes to people like Cashmere and Gloss.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Vanora?" Cashmere asks, her overly-dramatic tone putting a smirk on my face. "Please, share with us."

Vanora waves her hand, concealing her laughter well. Cashmere goes back to giving us one of her pep-talks that she gives us every year, even if she hasn't mentored once so far. Gloss won the 66th Games and Cashmere won the 67th Games, yet they haven't mentored once. Apparently, it wasn't the 'right time' to mentor.

Whatever that means, it's still bullshit.

"This year, District One will not be overlooked. With Gloss and I mentoring, a District One is bound to come – they have to."

_They have to_, I mock, rolling my eyes. They have to come, don't they?! They just _have _to!

Cashmere curtly nods her head, showing that her speech has come to an end. That was beautiful, really. It truly was. Vanora and I stand up in unison, catching the attention of Cashmere. She stands near the door that the two of us were about to go into, leading into the room Vanora and I usually hide away in. The mentors always meet before the Reapings, but when all of this filler talk is over, we like to get away.

I prefer it that way.

Just me and Vanora.

"Going somewhere, ladies?" Cashmere asks, batting her eyelashes. "The Reaping is about to start."

I debate telling that maybe if she didn't take up so much time, Vanora and I would have had time to go in there alone. But, Cashmere wasted too much time with one of her pep-talks, so now we have to stay with the rest of the victors. I look around the room, ignoring Cashmere some more, taking in every mentor and how much things have changed since the two siblings have made their way into the group. Nowadays Glass just sits there and withers away with his old age, Radaince is constantly applying make-up no matter how bad it looks, Pryce and Cavalier shove themselves into a corner and play silly Games, and then there's Adele.

I'm surprised she hasn't killed herself yet.

She isn't as bad as the siblings, though.

"And look at that," Cashmere says, looking at the clock. "Reaping time. Everyone, everyone! It is time!"

Who does she think she is? Ordering us all around, as if we're her battalion. She's the youngest victor we have right now, yet she acts like she's one of the most wise and insightful victors. This girl seriously does not know her limits.

Glass and Radiance are the first two to go to the stage, followed by Pryce and Cavalier. Adele sulks around in the back, and as she sees Gloss approach her, she makes her way out of the room. Cashmere and Gloss interlock their arms, placing their other hand on their hips.

So vain. So, so vain.

It's all about appearance to them. All about the way Panem sees them on a television.

Vanora and I walk out into the hallway, seeing the other victors already outside on the stage. Cashmere and Gloss are standing at the doors, the applause greeting them making the two of us snicker. We already that neither of us will get the applause they're getting, which is just sickening.

District One is too fickle.

"Introducing, Vanora Revery and Clara Peronne," I whisper to Vanora as we walk out onto the stage. Vanora laughs, and although we do get some applause, it's nothing compared to Cashmere and Gloss. "Looks like we're outdated."

We take our seats, with Vanora sitting right next to Gloss. She might have mentored Gloss when he was a tribute, but that doesn't change anything; he's still the deluded, narcissistic, perverted boy he always was. People like that don't change, especially when they rise to fame by killing children.

Call me a hypocrite, I suppose, but I am nothing like Gloss.

"Now, District One," the escort says, raising her hand in the air, wanting to entice the crowd. "It is time to choose the two tributes who will represent us in this year's Hunger Games!"

The escort saunters over towards the girl bowl, but we all know that there will be a volunteer. There are two volunteers nearly every year, except for some exceptions. After Vanora won, there was a lull in volunteers, but then Gloss volunteered. He changed the direction of where District One was going, and I'll give him that.

But, he doesn't deserve anything else.

"Do we have a-," the escort is cut short before she can fully open the card, being interrupted by the female volunteer this year.

"Yes, it is I," the girl says, strutting right down the center of the aisle. She sways her arms side to side, attracting the attention of every person here – especially Gloss. His interest is already piqued just from the way she's walking; boys, what will you do with them? "Ines Maiva at your service."

"Hello there, Ines," the escort says, watching Ines ascend the staircase and take her place next to her. Ines leans over to the microphone, and as the escort pulls it away for a moment, she slowly gives it back to Ines.

"It is my _honor_, District One," she says snidely, quickly glancing at us victors. "To represent the luxury District in the Seventieth Hunger Games."

In the audience, most of them have a smile on their faces. This girl is telling them exactly what they want, to make them all look good in front of the camera. All of Panem sees this, and clearly, Ines knows what she's doing. As Ines gives the escort back her microphone, the escort goes to the boy's bowl.

But, before she can pick the boy's name, the volunteer is already making his way to the stage. It's a skinny boy, his blonde bouncing up and down with every step. He smiles as he walks past everyone, and the look on his face just makes me laugh. I've never seen him around before.

"Hi, hi," he says, grabbing the railing to walk up the stairs. "I am Larron Arlett."

Larron Arlett, eh?

Well, Larron and Ines, I wish the two of you luck with Miss Cashmere and Mister Gloss over here. They're a handful.

And you know what, I wouldn't mind these dying, no matter how morbid that is. It would teach Gloss and Cashmere a lesson; that even though that this is their first year mentoring, they won't bring home a victor. That no matter what they try to instill in their tributes and what advice they can come up with, they still won't be able to bring one home. It'll show the two of them that they aren't what everyone else believes they are.

They are most certainly not as perfect as they want everyone to believe.

They should leave that up to me.

* * *

**Henry Wadell  
District Five Victor, 23 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

"Henry?"

Raising my head from leaning on my forearms, I look up, seeing Holden standing there. His arms are crossed over his sheet, a disapproving look on his face, directed right at me. Cynthia and Brites are at the other end of the table, who are all staring at me too, as is Ameren.

"Yes?" I say, wanting to know why they're all looking at me. "Is there something you want?"

"Must I repeat myself?" Holden snaps, his voice edgy. "Now, Henry, for the last time: Are you still up for mentoring this year?"

Leaning back in the chair, I lean my head back a little, staring up at the ceiling. I refrain from saying something too brusque or hurtful, since all of us are in here. If it were just Holden and I, I wouldn't hold back as much – he doesn't deserve the same respect as the others do.

He never has.

"What gave you the hint that I ever wanted to?" I question, not wanting to raise my voice too much. "I said I would think about it, not that I would."

"And have you?"

"Yes."

"So, what do you say?"

"No."

Holden puffs his chest out, a deep breathe following it. He puts his fists on the edge of the table, shaking his head as he looks down at his reflection from the clear table-top. Cynthia, Brites, and Ameren all look at each other, but I keep my attention on Holden, knowing that he isn't done with me. He never gives up that easily.

"It's been seven years, Henry," Holden says under his breath, but it's loud enough for me to hear. "What are you scared of? I'm not too old to do this, and Cynthia or Brites shouldn't have the responsibility every year."

"What am I scared of," I scoff, but as I open my mouth to say something else, there's a knock on the door. That means that it's Reaping time now, and as Holden scurries out of the room, the rest of us are left alone. They all give me a look, one that I can't really describe what it's like. It's like they agree with Holden and that they think I'm scared of something.

I'm scared of nothing.

What would I be scared of? I got out of that arena, I didn't die. What else do they expect from me?

Mentoring was never going to be a part of my victory. Mentoring is a choice.

Stepping through the doorway, I pause for a moment, staring right back at the Peacekeeper next to me. I can't see them through their dark visor, but I know they're looking. They probably hear everything we were talking about too. I roll my eyes, walking away and giving up with being in a mood today.

It's whatever.

None of them really get to me, anyway.

No one ever really has.

Once I reach the doors, I shake my head, not really wanting to go through with this for another year. It's the same thing over and over again; a child picked, crying parents. A scream or two. It's all repetitive.

Sitting down next to Ameren, I feel more relaxed. Ameren never speaks to me much, unlike Holden and Cynthia; they're always on my case. I don't understand why Ameren can't mentor by himself, either. He's never showed any defiance to mentoring and has never had a problem with watching his tributes die. So, why do I have to do that now? Why is all of a sudden my job?

It's a job I don't want.

As the escort starts the Reaping, she walks over to the female's bowl, dipping her hand right down into it. I inhale slowly, letting out a deep breath as I exhale. I'm not even nervous for the Reaping, I'm just fed up with being here. With sitting here with the other mentors, seeing the look on their faces as a tribute is picked.

"Clara Novisont!" The escort calls out, looking out into the crowd. My eyes follow reluctantly, but I admit, I'm curious as to see who will be the tribute this year. Then I see her, standing in the middle of the aisle.

She has her held high, not a single tear in sight. Usually, tributes from District Five are always tearing up, always crying out to their parents. This girl is different. What she does next surprises me more; as she walks past the cameras, she puts a wide smile on her face and waves at them.

There seems to be an edge to her.

And that's always good to have.

"Shall we choose your partner, Clara?" The escort asks, walking over towards the male's bowl. Dipping her hand in, she swirls it around, finally picking up a card. "Garret Orson!"

I find the boy standing in the aisle, staring down at the ground. He walks up to the stage slowly, not wanting to look up at the cameras or at the escort. The crowd is quiet, except for the sound of his footsteps tapping on the ground. When he does look up, though, I see that there's a blank expression on his face.

One that reminds me of me.

That's what I looked like when I was reaped.

And maybe that's why I don't want to mentor; because I don't want to live this all over again. I don't want to go through the Games with another tribute, but this time, I'll be looking from the outside in. I won't be in the arena, but I'll still have to watch the two of them in there.

I know what it's like to be in an arena.

They have no idea what's coming for them. The arena is nothing like I would have ever expected, something that no mentor could ever help you understand. It's a whole new world.

One that I already have went through.

One that I don't want to have to go through again.

I saved my own life and I shouldn't have to save theirs too.

It's not my responsibility to save their lives. It was my responsibility to save my own.

And now they have to fight for themselves.

* * *

**Trent Ethillion  
District Four Male, 18 Years Old  
Goodbyes**

* * *

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

Just from the voice, I know who it is. It's no surprise that he's my first visitor – and only, probably, at the rate I'm going. Turning around from the window, I greet Triton with a handshake, and as he pulls me in, it's a side I have never really seen before. I pry him off of me, not wanting to get too mushy right now.

If I didn't think I'd return and see him again, I wouldn't have volunteered in the first place.

"No parents yet, huh?" Triton asks, a smirk on his face. He already knows the answer, but neither can ever pass up a time to poke fun at my so-called mother and father. I'm not even really offended that they won't show up; I'd be more offended if they did, anyway.

Defying them is one thing, but blatantly ignoring them at the Reaping is another.

"I'm over it," I say, shrugging, sitting down on the couch. Triton sits down next to me, playing with the little dish of sand on the end-table next to him. "But, let's not talk about that; it's a waste of time," I interject, wanting to change the topic of the conversation. "Have you figured out who's mentoring this year?"

"I tried," Triton says, kind of defeated. "Finnick got it, though. Go figure."

"He always gets what he wants," I say, mocking the words he said at his Victor's Interview. We all know that interview too well, everything he said being etched into our minds in District Four. "And he is what everyone wants, after all."

Triton laughs, and as he begins to quiet down, he stares off into the distance. He looks like he's reflecting on something, but I don't know what. I don't want him to doubt me, either, since that won't help my chances. I want him, as well as all of District Four, to have confidence in me.

If I didn't have confidence in myself, I wouldn't have volunteered, either.

"Is Evadne?" I say, breaking the silence. I want the conversation to keep going, especially before it's too late. Since Triton isn't mentoring this year, I won't have any more time other than this to talk to him. "She seemed pretty set on mentoring."

"After that Victor's Banquet, of course," Triton replies, looking back at me. "She has to prove herself in some other way, yeah? Bringing home a victor would be good enough."

"Guess I'll have to kill Darya, then," I deadpan, only half-kidding. But, I ignore my own statement, not wanting to bring up any form of death just yet – that's for the Games. And for now, I'm still in District Four.

When there's a knock on the door, a Peacekeeper comes in, but Triton shoots him a glance. I can't see what face Triton makes, but the Peacekeeper nods his head, closing the door again. I guess being a victor comes with special privileges.

"Don't worry about Darya just yet," Triton says, and by the tone of his voice I can tell he's going to begin one of his inspirational and insightful talks. "It's too early for that."

"Have any of the other Reapings recaps been shown yet?" I ask, knowing that Triton is always on top of things like that. Whenever he can, he tries to help, and not just by training. It started out as physical training, but then he began to give me advice and insight that I still remember to this day.

He's helped me in ways that I'm still grateful for.

Triton shakes his head. "No, but once they do, I'll watch them. On the train, make sure to discuss them with Finnick. He's young, but he's got a good head on those shoulders of his. He knows what he's doing."

I nod my head, looking back out the window. It's probably almost time to board the train, and then Triton will really have to go. And even though I won't admit it, I'll miss him and the talks we have from time-to-time. But, as we still are here, I continue the conversation.

"So," I say, racking my mind to bring up something else. "Any gossip on the victors? I'm sure you've heard all about the one from Two, Spike."

"Caught with another prostitute," Triton says, chuckling. "That's the third one this week."

"They never learn, do they?" I reply, laughing as well. I know for a fact that if I win, I would not turn out like Spike. Drugs, prostitutes, gambling – he's going down the wrong path.

I'm not even sure why he's throwing his life away like that.

The next knock on the door is more forceful, and Triton knows that he has to go this time. He stands up, brushing the sand off his fingers and back into the dish on the end-table. The Peacekeeper opens the door, waiting for Triton to leave. It seems that no one else is waiting outside for me, and Triton knows it.

I didn't expect much, anyway.

At least Triton came.

"Trent, just promise me one thing," Triton says, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Don't mess up."

"I'll try not to."

As I watch Triton walk out of the door, I lean further back in the couch, kicking up my feet onto the table. The door shuts, the sound having more of an impact than it should. For every other tribute, they'll have one more visitor, their doors closing only after someone else came in to say goodbye.

But, for me, that was it.

All I have is Triton.

And maybe that's why I volunteered. Why I want to win. Why I want to claim the title of victor, and you know what, all of the money and fame that follows wouldn't be so bad.

People would at least respect me then.

I wouldn't just take up space like my parents think.

I'm worth more than that, and now, I just have to show them that.

I just have to prove it to them.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Reaping Part One: Complete!

Okay, so this is what the next chapter will be like too. Reapings can get tedious and can drag out, so I try to sum them up and condense them. Either way, there's one more Reaping chapter and then it's Capitol.

What did you think of the tributes/mentors shown here?

Who stood out?

And some general comments on the POVs and tributes would be great to read. The next chapter should be out somewhat soon, but I'm trying to finish my other SYOT before I get too into this one, so I'll see.

Well, that's it!


	4. Reaping: Part Two

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Wick Cresswell  
District Eight Male, 17 Years Old  
Before Reapings**

* * *

Standing in line, I patiently wait my turn, stepping forward as the line shifts forward. There's small chatter throughout the line, but I stand there, only really wanting to get the tesserae of the day. Whenever it's Reaping day, the Peacekeepers usually throw some more grain or oil in the package, so we make the most of it.

I don't mind waiting here, either. It's for a good cause, and plus, it's a nice day out. It reminds me of the days where I was a child, running through the fields and forests, chasing after my siblings. From time to time, we still do that, but we usually just walk around. Things are different now, whether I like or not.

I have to deal with it, though, even when things are still continuing to change.

At least Jerald, my brother, is out of the Reaping age. Now, it's just me and Celice, who's fifteen. We've been safe for a few years now, but each year I take more tesserae, my name goes it in a few more times. It's a twisted system; in order to survive, I have to risk my own life.

It's worth it, though.

"Hey, that was mine! Give it back!"

At the head of the line, there's some commotion. I lean to the side, wanting to see what's going on, and in front of the line, the Peacekeepers are ignoring a little brawl that's going on. It's an older man with a younger one, shouting things back and forth at each other. There's spilled grain all over the ground, the older man bending down to try to pick it up.

The younger man goes to kick him, and when he does, the older man lets out a shout. Rolling my eyes, I step out of the line, wanting to walk over there and stop this. This is no way to treat one another, with anger and violence. I realize that tessera is important, but it's nothing to fight over.

"That's enough," I call out, but I'm ignored by both of them. They get up in each other's face, and as I slip my name-card in my back pocket, I put my arms out. The younger man knocks my arm down, and with my force, I reassert myself.

"Don't get yourself involved, kid," he says, trying to get back at the older man. This time, though, I grasp my two hands on both of his shoulders, restricting any more movement from him. He squirms away, and before I know it, he tries to throw a punch at me too.

There's a gasp from the line for the tesserae, yet the Peacekeepers are still doing nothing. I dodge it quick enough, but as I send my own fist up into his jaw, I don't realize what I've done until after. He buckles over, some blood dripping down onto his shirt, and then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you, boy," the old man says, his package already in his hand.

Shaking my fist, I walk away, not looking back at the mess I just created. It was his fault, though. He started with the old man, so I just dealt with it. That's no way to treat anyone, and even though I had to fix it with violence, mine was justified. Violence wasn't always my way to go, but living in District Eight teaches you a few things; to survive, to stay strong, and to find a way so that no one messes with you.

And maybe growing up in a middle-class home was my way of finding out how. My father always believed in violence, always wanting the Peacekeepers to punish the criminals more. That's where I got it from, and it sure has come in handy. We've been friends ever since, so there's that.

Maybe violence does have some good things that go along with it.

"Next," the Peacekeeper says, his voice deep. Holding out my name card, he presses a stamp down on it, passing me one of the wrapped packages. There's string around the beige cloth, the package seeming heavier than usual. Nodding, I walk away, holding the package under my arm.

I kick a pebble across the street, the rock bouncing along and then sliding into a drain. I smirk, finding another pebble to kick, and play with that. I'm almost home now, seeing as I just entered through the gates that most of the middle-class families live.

When I think about it, District Eight really is atrocious. Maybe I just have gotten used to it all, but there's still so much more I want. In this District, the only way to go is down; with money, or more usually, with death. A lot of people die here from sickness or starvation, and that's just something you get used to.

I ignore it now, but that doesn't make it any better.

This whole District is a mess. One big, poverty-stricken, dirty mess.

"Wick!"

"Gerard," I call out as I turn around, already knowing who it is. He nudges my arm with his hand, a package under his arm too. "Got the tesserae for the day, huh?"

Gerard shrugs, playing with the string around the cloth. "Let's just hope I don't get reaped because of it. I've been getting it more often, and I don't need my name in the bowl more than I already have to."

"Don't worry about it," I say, trying to make him feel better. "I'd volunteer for you if you were to be reaped, naturally."

"Is that so?" He asks, a smirk on his face. "Would you try and volunteer for Celice too?"

I let out a laugh, the thought of Celice being somewhat funny, even if it's morbid. "Everyone's already scared of her, so."

Gerard and I walk back to our homes, some filler-type conversations here and there. We talk about the weather, about the new cloth they put around the packages, and what we'll do after the Reapings. That's if we both make it, though.

You know, I've never really thought about being reaped. It always seemed so distant, as if it was something that would never affect me. But, now after hearing what Gerard is saying, maybe I never saw it in the same way he has.

What if I am reaped?

What if I do have to go into the Hunger Games?

Would I have what it takes?

District Eight might have given me some life lessons, but I'm not sure it'd be enough for the arena.

I'm not sure if I could win.

* * *

**Atticus Dolle  
District Ten Victor, 22 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

Leaning back in the chair, I kick my feet up onto the end table, crossing my arms over my chest. I let the four of them chatter among themselves, only picking up a few words here and there. They've been talking about last year's victor – Evadne – and the District Ten tributes for that Game.

Compared to most years, District Ten actually did pretty well – the term being used loosely, of course. The male placed about 8th, while the female placed 6th. They were allies, both being killed by a tribute from District Two. It was tough to watch, especially when I mentored the boy. I grew fond of the girl, too.

She had a certain charm to her. I had my eye on her; besides, she was only seventeen. For some reason, though, mentors aren't supposed to mingle with tributes. I'm sure that hasn't stopped some of the more promiscuous victors; Cashmere, anyone? Gloss?

I'm sure they've had their fair share of alone time with a tribute or two.

"Did you hear that, Atticus?" Wolfram calls over, and as I look up at him, I nod my head. All four of them chuckle, probably making another joke that I'm not in. It's been that way for a while now, but I can't do much about it. They have their own little inner-circle because they've known each other for longer. I only won a few years ago, so I'm still catching up.

I don't think they dislike me or anything, we just don't always get along and they sometimes don't include me. Whatever, I didn't win to spend time with them, did I? I won to come home, not to make friends with other victors. Even if they keep me company and understand me more than anyone else in the District, it's still rather insignificant.

Sitting back up, I let the seat fall back onto the ground, silencing their chatter. They all look at me, and I smirk, making them chuckle. I'll grown up one day and be like Wolfram, or like Asher, all old and wise and stuff. But, for now, I'm young, and I might as well make the most of it.

Mentoring might not be the most heart-warming activity, but it's something to do. Having money and a large house doesn't satisfy me enough in District Ten, so I might as well try something else. It's morbid, sure, but after going through the Games that's what happens.

I don't expect everyone to understand.

"Well," Asher says, pushing himself up from the chair. He places his hand on the end of the table, his arm shaking a little bit. He stands himself up, regaining his balance and begins to walk to the door. See? Old age has hit him pretty hard – he won the Twentieth Hunger Games, and when you think about it, it might not seem like a lot, but really, it's about fifty years. "It's time to get this started."

Following him down the hallway, I look over my shoulder, seeing Devana and Branna making their way as well. Wolfram follows slowly behind them, walking with his hand at a slower pace. He says something to the Peacekeeper, making himself chuckle.

When the doors open up, I step out next to Asher and watch him take the second seat from the door. I take the last seat on the stage, staring out into the crowd. To my side, Devana takes her seat, followed by Branna and then Wolfram on the other side of Asher. We all sit there, and as I cross my legs and place my hands on my lap, I hear Devana whisper something into my ear.

"Don't look so casual," she says, nudging me with her hand. "You look like you enjoy watching this."

"I greet you, District Ten!" The escort cuts Branna off, her voice echoing throughout the Square. She taps on the microphone, as if her voice wasn't already loud enough. She nods her head, the sound of her high-heels tapping on the ground as she walks over to the bowl almost as annoying as her voice.

She dips her hand into the bowl, picking up the first card that her fingers graze. To think, this was once me, standing there, hoping to any supernatural force that my name wouldn't be on that card. But, it was, and now, here I am.

"Veles Ryman!"

The escort looks out into the crowd, seeing a section of the crowd part around one boy. He's a small boy with black hair, thin-framed glasses on his face. When he realizes it's him, his mouth drops open, followed by a deep breath. He starts to walk up to the stage, looking like he's panicking internally. He shuts his mouth, curls his fingers into fists, and rushes up the stairs.

As Veles positions himself on the stage, I watch the escort go to the female's bowl now. Her fingers latch onto the first card they touch, and as she raises her hand, I watch the card slowly. Just one more name, then this is all over. Just one more tribute to pick.

"Taima Larkin!" The escort calls out, a loud gasp coming from the crowd. Quickly, though, the girl, Taima, makes her way into the aisle. When I really see what she looks like, I widen my eyes, appreciating how good-looking she is. I know that the rest of the mentors are probably looking at me, not wanting me to get involved with her.

But, I'm young. I can't help it.

The red-head makes her way up to the stage, standing next to Veles. They exchange a glance, with Taima giving him a sweet smile. Veles doesn't respond, looking right down at the ground. She shoots the crowd a glance, an edge in her eye as she looks at them.

There's something about her.

And no, it's not the way she looks. That's something else.

Usually, I don't have a lot of hope for District Ten. Most of the tributes from here die so quickly, right away in the Bloodbath. But, last year, after the two made it into the Top Ten, my view changed. Maybe tributes from here do have it in them; it just took a few years to really figure it out.

Maybe one of these two will have what it takes.

Maybe one of them will win and join me among the other victors. Then, I'd have someone else that is around my age. I wouldn't have to deal with the rest of them now, all too old for me to get along with.

District Ten might have another victor.

We might have a shot.

* * *

**Anya Fallow  
District Eleven Victor, 29 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

_Twelve years._

That's how long it's been since District Eleven has claimed another victor. Twelve years of two more tributes dying, leaving the victors back at home with a missing piece in their heart. That's twenty four more dead children from Eleven, and if you want to include my District partner, that's twenty-five.

Isn't there something wrong with that?

Twenty-five dead children and the Capitol doesn't think twice about it?

That's no way to run a country. To exert pressure on the Districts by subjecting them to this cruel Game, making them send in two innocent children to fight for their lives. Even the Careers are innocent; they're only victims of the Capitol. The Capitol has all of this planned out, with one goal in mind; to augment their own power.

They don't care about the Districts.

And I don't think they ever did.

Yet, here I am, already given them what they want. I killed to win, and even though it's not what I wanted, I killed for the Capitol. I gave them the show they intended for, getting blood on my own hands in the process. It's not what I wanted, though; it's what I had to do.

I had too much to get back to. I couldn't just die, could I? I had a family to take care of, and without winning, they would have died without me. I got them the food, I got them the clothes they need. And with all of this money the Capitol gives me now, they never have to think twice about anything, even if it makes me sick to my stomach.

I'm the victor the Capitol wants now; I killed for them, and now, I take the money they give me and keep quiet. I don't speak out, not like some other victors. I keep to myself, but trust me, if I had the chance, I would show my dissent. But, I can't… I have my family to worry about.

The Capitol could hurt them if they wanted to.

They have leverage over me in ways I will never understand.

"Anya?" Hearing my name, I turn away from the window, looking away from the garden. Seeder's already at the door, and as I get the hint that it's time to go, I stand up. Grove and Chaff have already gone out, and as Seeder waits for me, I smile.

"Guess it's time," I say quietly, shutting the door behind me. "Let's just get this over with."

"You get used to it, Anya," Seeder says, her voice low. "Not in the way where it's okay or where you accept it, but you become numb to it all. You swallow your fear and anxiety, pushing it so far down you won't think about it anymore."

Looking at her, I nod my head, taking her words to heart. She's always been there for me, especially when she was mentoring me during the Fifty-Seventh Hunger Games. She had my back then, and she still does. If I had to owe my winning to anyone, it'd be to her. She taught me everything I know and she still does to this day.

"Thank you," I reply, not having much else to say. "I guess you're right."

Once we step out of the doors, I go right to my seat, sitting down next to Chaff. He puts his arm around the back of my chair, giving me a smile that I return him with. He nods his head as the escort begins to talk, welcoming the District Eleven victors and introducing the beginning of the name-calling.

"Now, it's time, District Eleven!" He calls out, waving his arms out in front of him. "It is time for me to pick the tributes that will represent you in the Seventieth Hunger Games!"

Taking a deep breath, I wait anxiously for him to call the names already, just wanting to get this over with. I don't know how much more of this I can handle; every year, we sit here, waiting for two names to be called. It's the same thing every year… Nothing changes.

And I don't think it ever will.

When the escort has his hand on a card from the female's bowl, he opens it up slowly, reading the name aloud. "Daisy Mills will you please come on up!"

When I see who the girl is, I feel my heart break. She's so young, so petite… How could the Capitol do this? The girl just stands there, her skin blanching to a shade of white that is almost sickening, and as the Peacekeepers come to get her, I can't watch anymore. They grab her forcefully, picking her up, and when they plop her down on the stage, she doesn't make a sound.

She stands there, her hands folded in front of her, looking as if she wants to break down and cry. She can be no older than thirteen, could she? Is this what the Capitol wants?

Do they not care at all?

The escort is at the male's bowl now, and when she picks up the next card, I just hope that it's not another young tribute. We already have one, and I know that Daisy the chances of doing well are slim to none. Over the years, I've come to accept things like that; I can't really do much about it.

"Trevor Santos!"

A tall boy steps into the aisle, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows are furrowed, and as he walks down the aisle much more calmly than I've seen most tributes react, something about him stands out. He's bulkier than most, towering over Daisy's small frame. He stands next to her at the stage, his lip twitching.

_That's it._

_It's all over._

"Here you have it, District Eleven! The tributes that will represent you in the Seventieth Hunger Games," the escort booms into the microphone, holding out his hand to the two of them. "Daisy Mills and Trevor Santos!"

When I look at the two of them standing there, I sink back in my chair, not knowing how much more of this I can handle. It's too much to see two tributes be reaped, knowing that they both probably won't make it out of that arena. That's just a known fact now; that District Eleven are bound to die early on.

It's a shame.

And even if I try my hardest to help them out, it's never enough.

Nothing I do is ever enough.

* * *

**Lavender Argus  
District Twelve Female, 16 Years Old  
Goodbyes **

* * *

"Lavender…."

Curling my fingers into a fist, I place them on top of the table, ignoring the voice behind me. As I turn around from looking out the window, I see that it's my family, all four of them standing there. They look so sad, so scared for me.

They won't the ones in the Games. Fighting for my life, perhaps even killing.

I will.

And I don't want their pity.

"This is bullshit," I spit back, my fists shaking. "It blows my mind that the Capitol still puts up with this. That every year, they're still completely okay with the Hunger Games."

"We understand," my mother says, always being the one to try and calm me down. It won't work this time, no. I'm too angry. I'm too fed up with what the Capitol does – to prove what, anyway? We're more than capable of understanding that they are in charge here.

They're just an abomination.

"No, you don't," I snap, raising my fists from the table, keeping them pinned to my side. "None of you do, but I don't expect you to. I'm not sure I understand it either."

I don't understand the Capitol, the Games. I don't understand how the Capitol can be so content with the way they treat District Twelve, while Districts like One, Two, and Four are all fed and properly clothed. District Twelve might be my home, but what else is there?

Coal. .

Lovely, isn't it? Only if the Capitol knew… Only if they knew what District Twelve is capable of. Then they might be scared to oppress in the ways they do, to shun us, as if we're some caged up animals. If the Capitol wants me to play this little stupid Game, then I will.

I'll show that they don't own me.

They are nothing to me.

The Capitol is filth. They are a problem that has to be dealt with, and even though I can't do much about it, they'll see. They'll see that I – Lavender Argus – won't be pushed around in the ways everyone else in this District. I'm much more than that.

"Please, talk to us," my mother says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "We don't have much longer together."

LeAnne and Samuel are on the ground, looking up at me. As I watch them, I feel the anger in my stomach intensify, their young age making this seem even sicker. How can the Capitol do this, too? Subject my four year old and two year old siblings to watch this, to grow up knowing that their sister went into the Hunger Games. That their sister went into the Games, without any really guarantee that she'd be coming back.

"Whatever," is all I manage to come up with, not knowing what else is there to say. Does she want me to say good-bye? To promise her that I'll come back? Does she want me to kiss my siblings, to wrap them up in my arms and embrace them?

That'll prove nothing.

There's the chance that I still might not come back.

The knock on the doors indicates that our time together is over, and as I look at my family one more time, I think of everything we've been through. Supporting a family of five wasn't easy, but we managed. My parents had enough trouble on their own, so it was up to me to take a leadership role in this family. I did it, though. I helped as best as I could.

And I'm not sure if that was enough.

We survived, though. I can survive a few days longer.

They all usher out of the room silently, no more words being spoken. Before the door closes, my next guest is my friend, Leslie. She's about the same age as me, and we met a while back, but there wasn't much to our relationship. I'm surprised she came to visit me at all, but she was always the optimistic one.

She always sees the brighter side to things.

I wish I could share that view with her.

"Lavender," she says, her voice a little whiney. "Lavender, are you okay? I know it must be a lot for you take it; what about your family? Are they okay too? Please tell me they are…"

"Don't run out of breath," I interject, cutting her off from rambling on and on. "You'll need it if you still want to replace my spot in the Games."

Leslie smiles, but then frowns. "You know I can't do that. I would, though. I would go into the Games for you any day."

Then, maybe she should have volunteered for me. This is exactly why I don't pay much attention to people here. Friends lack value in my life, but I have my family, and that's enough. Leslie was always there, but it's nice of her to come and visit me. Maybe I underestimated her. Maybe I should have cared for her more.

I can't change any of that now, though.

What's done is done

"I'm just," she says, trailing off. "I'm just so sorry."

"Don't be," I reply. "It's not your fault."

"I know, but," she trails off again, and for a moment, I find myself feeling bad for her. That she'll have to watch me in the Games too, but I really shouldn't feel bad for her at all. She'll survive here, but me? I'm going against all odds. When I die, she can either look away or cry for me.

Then she'll get over it.

My family might not, but Leslie will. That doesn't mean that I won't try, though. I will try and I'll make sure to what District Twelve is really like. Allan might not be the oldest or strongest kid here, but he's something, and I'm something.

District Twelve will not be overlooked this year.

_We'll make the Capitol pay._

_We'll make them all pay. _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There is Reaping: Part Two!

I'm a little late on this one, but at least I got it out before June is here. Reapings can be a drag to do, anyway, but next things start to pick up. Train Rides and Chariot Rides are next (4 POVs).

What do you think of the tributes/mentors shown here?

Who stood out?

And that's about it. Next chapter should be up sometime, but we'll see. I said about this one too, but yeah, look at that; I'm late. Well, have fun reading, yeah?

That's enough from me.


	5. Capitol: Part One

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Daisy Mills  
District Eleven Female, 13 Years Old  
Train Rides: Pt. I**

* * *

"Would you like me to get you anything?"

Seeder is sitting across from me, a plate of different cakes in front of her. I look at them, the cakes with the different icing on top looking like the ones daddy used to buy all the time. He used to buy these every morning for us, but we never finished them all.

There were too many for us to eat.

"No, thank you," I reply. "I'll get it myself."

I stand up, patting down the back of my dress. Daddy bought me this dress only a few days ago, since he said the green-color of it would bring me good luck. He wasn't right, but it was nice of him still. It's my favorite dress, especially because it matches my eyes well.

That's what he says, anyway.

I approach the table near the dining-portion of the cart, and as I reach for the plate, I look over and see Trevor sitting alone. I smile at him, but he doesn't see me right away, probably because I'm too short to tower over the counter. After getting my own plate, I put some fruit on it, taking it back towards where Seeder and I were sitting. As I pass Trevor, I stop and turn to him.

"Hi, little girl," he says, looking up from his plate. "Scared yet?"

I smile at him. "Scared about what?"

"Dying," he says, coughing a little bit as he swallows the food. "You're going to die, you know that?"

"Leave the girl alone, Trevor," Chaff says, sitting down next to him. "Pick on someone your own size."

Chaff and Trevor begin to talk with one another, which I take as a sign to go and sit back down with Seeder. Placing the plate down on the table, I sit back in the couch, watching the trees outside of the train fly passed us. I reach for one of the darker colored fruits, it being one that I've never seen before. It's small and it has a strong smell.

"Never seen one?" Seeder asks, crossing her legs. "Neither have I."

I shake my head. "Daddy never really buys fruit. And whenever he does, it's usually fake fruit for the table."

"Me and your dad are good friends," she says, and I smile again. Seeder has come over to my father's house a few times; for some reason, many of the victors of District Eleven like to visit my father, probably because he's the mayor's assistant. I'm not sure what that really means, but all I know is that he has close ties with the Capitol.

"Yes, he talks about you sometimes," I say. "Remember the time you came over and Amaryllis was with you?"

Before Seeder can say something back, there's a loud shout that comes from behind me, and we both look over. Trevor is standing up, a fork in one of his hands. Chaff is still sitting there, looking down at his plate, not doing anything about Trevor.

Why is he angry?

Did Chaff say something?

"You, of all people, cannot tell me what to do!" He shouts, walking away from the table. He slams his fist down on the counter, making the cups near him shake. Dropping the fork, he spins back around, not done with Chaff. "You know nothing, Chaff. You only won because of luck. You have no real skill."

"Don't worry about him," Seeder says, reaching for the table towards another small cake. "Chaff can deal with him."

Seeder goes back to looking out the window, but I still watch Trevor and Chaff, wanting to know more about why Trevor is so angry. Is he angry about being reaped? About going into the Hunger Games? If he is, then that would make sense.

Why else would he be? Chaff is only trying to help him.

That's what mentors are for.

"You have the audacity to tell me that Daisy might not die?" Trevor shouts again, pointing a finger at me now. Chaff looks over his shoulder, raising his hand at Trevor. "She's twelve, Chaff. If you can't see her being the first death then you're just deluded."

I'm actually thirteen, but I choose not to say anything. Whenever is someone raising their voice, you're not supposed to shout back. That will just make them even angrier.

"Please, Trevor," Seeder says out-loud, still looking out the window. "That's enough."

"Yeah, it is enough, Seeder. It is."

Trevor storms out of this train cart, pushing right through the doors and going off somewhere else. Chaff shakes his head, and as he goes back to eating alone, I want to invite him over. I choose not to, though, since it looks like he wants some time alone.

"What was that all about?" I ask Seeder. "Why was he so angry?"

"He's a boy, Daisy. They always get angry over nothing."

"Do you think he will be okay?"

"Yes," she says, nodding her head. "I'm sure he will be."

I hope Trevor is okay. I don't like seeing him angry; I don't like seeing anyone angry.

One time back in District Eleven, I was walking with my mother. We came across two Peacekeepers and a man, and the man was shouting at the Peacekeepers. Before I could see anything else, my mother turned us the other way, but I could still hear the shouting. After a while, I couldn't hear any more shouting, so I think it all worked out.

For some reason, I think District Eleven is just an angry District.

Why would they be angry, though?

I have nothing to be angry about. Even if I was reaped for the Hunger Games, I still have a life back home. I have my father, my mother, and my friends. I have a nice house with a nice pet too. I have it all, so there's nothing to be angry about.

I just want to go back to all of that.

I don't want to be here.

I want to be home.

* * *

**Cerise Hessian  
District Eight Female, 18 Years Old  
Train Rides: Pt. II**

* * *

"Was that your sister at the Reaping?"

"Oh, the red-haired one?" I ask, and as Cecelia bites down on her bottom lip, I keep going. "Yeah, that thing is my sister. Isn't she lovely? Always crying, making a scene in front of everyone."

Cecelia gasps, sitting up in her chair. She uncrosses her legs, and as she opens her mouth to speak back to me, I can hear her voice already trembling before it comes out. "That is your sister, Cerise. You should not speak of her like that. I was only asking a question."

"A question that doesn't deserve a dignified response, I may," I snap, glaring at her. "I won't ask questions about your life if you won't ask about mine."

Cecelia sulks back into her chair, the young girl who only won the Hunger Games two years ago being afraid of someone like me. I'm used to it at this point, and frankly, she does it to herself. Apparently, she hasn't matured enough yet to know when not to stick her nose in other people's business.

It's not like it was an important question, anyway. It was about my sister. The wide-eyed creature that my parents disrespectfully put into my life, the thing that looked so much like an alien. Cashmere, that's her name. Isn't that such an ugly name? I think so.

It really is an ugly name the more I repeat it in my mind. Cashmere. Atrocious, really.

When she came into my life when I was ten, it all changed. She began to receive all of the attention, but did she deserve it? She was only a baby, a baby that could barely breathe and couldn't speak yet. It brought nothing to this family – she ruined my family. She's what caused us to break apart.

She's just an evil creature. That's all she is.

"Well…," Cecelia whispers, and I'm not even sure if that was directed at me. Does she still want to talk to me? I respect her for her perseverance, although it's annoying. I shouldn't have even given her the regard at all.

"Speak up," I quip, looking over at her. "Didn't your mother teach you manners?"

"I just wanted to," Cecelia begins, but her voice gradually quiets down, going completely silent soon enough. I raise an eyebrow, but she looks away quickly, looking right over to Rove.

Oh, that's right. They're here too. I haven't been paying much attention to Rove, nor Wick, for that matter. I like their silence more than Cecelia's incessant babbling, though. At least they know their boundaries.

"I can't hear you, Cecelia. Don't make me get up and come over there."

From behind me, I can hear someone get up and shuffle their feet a little, and I assume that it's Rove. He's been rather quiet, and I know that Wick doesn't talk much, but I never guessed Rove would be so silent. Glancing over my shoulder, I look at him, a smirk on my face.

I'm glad he decided to join us.

"How are you, Rove? I love that color on you," I say, winking at him. He places his plate down on the counter, and as I look over at Wick, I look away before we can make eye-contact. Rove shakes his head – that's all I get.

"I would recommend for you not to get snappy with me," he says, chuckling to himself. How old is he now, anyway? Fifty years old? Sixty? I don't keep track.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Don't be impudent, Cerise."

"Don't be intrusive, Rove."

"Don't hurt yourself with big words like that."

"No, no, I'm sorry," Cecelia whimpers, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. "I shouldn't have brought it up… I just, I just have my own sister… And I couldn't even imagine what they would feel if…"

I sigh.

I don't have time for this.

"Well, you weren't the one reaped, were you?" I ask, not really intending to come off as insensitive. If it did sound like that, though, I won't do anything about it. People should know when to speak and when they should keep quiet.

Cecelia's just too emotional.

That's her problem.

"I was reaped," Cecelia says again, and every time she opens her mouth, I just want to get up and leave. But, I can't. Everyone else is here, and although I don't like talking to them, I like being where everyone else is. That's usually where the excitement is.

Even if they might not like me so far, that matters little to me. No one has ever really liked me.

District Eight was full of boring people. They were all inferior, with their tattered clothes, dirty skin, and disheveled hair. That District was a mess, really. The only time I ever took any satisfaction is when something happened – a public whipping, for example. Or when a tenement was burning down or there was a bomb threat in a factory.

That's what makes things interesting.

And with the people that District Eight has, they could use something to spruce their lives up. If that takes a fire or some public punishment, then so be it. Words cannot even describe how lowly I think of all of them.

They probably think lowly of me, too. But, I deserve to be thought of in that way. I'm not proud of the things I've done, or the things they've said I've done, but why does that matter? I have a reputation.

People know my name.

People know what I can do and, at times, I wish the rumors were true. That I killed an Avox. That I'm immune to disease. That I control a prostitution ring. Those are interesting, aren't they? I wouldn't mind living a life like that.

But, I am only Cerise Hessian, the girl with the wealthy family that is treading on thin ice with the whole District. The District full of people that loathe me, the District where I'm not wanted.

They branded me the residential narcissist. The one that cared too much – the one that didn't care enough. The one that was always at the right place at the wrong time, the one they all couldn't trust. The one that they wanted to stay away from.

So, that's what I became.

I am only fulfilling the image they set for me.

And there's a chance I might even enjoy doing this.

* * *

**Allan Barre  
District Twelve Male, 14 Years Old  
Chariot Ride Prep.**

* * *

"Your District partner," my stylist says, closing the door slowly behind her. It latches shut, and she continues speaking, "Lavender, right? Well, she's a handful."

I shrug, crossing my feet over one another as I sit up on the table. "I like her. She's funny."

"The mean ones usually are funny," she mumbles, making me shake my head. She taps the bottom of her clipboard on the metal table in the corner of the room, a closet next to it. With her fingernail, she taps the closet next, and as she looks at me, I grin. "Allan, hm? That's a nice name."

"It's my grandfather's name," I say back, and as she turns away from me, I get that she isn't interested anymore. She just wants to make conversation, I guess. That's nice of her – most people usually just give up with me immediately. Lavender at least talks to me, though.

Haymitch isn't as communicative.

He doesn't do much to talk to me. Or Lavender, for that matter. He just keeps to himself.

"What do you have planned for me?" I ask, and as she glances over her shoulder, she lowers her glasses to look at me. She nods her head again, not really answering my question, so I just go along with it. I'll figure out soon enough, anyway, and besides, I just wanted to keep the conversation up.

I think I'll be spending more time with her later on, so it'd be nice to get to know one another.

"What is your name?" I ask, finding it rather odd she never really introduced herself to me.

"The name's Davina," she replies, turning around completely now. She holds her clipboard out in front of me, and as I look down, it's a drawing of me. It's not exactly on point, but at the right angle, it might look like me. There are smudges of black and gray colored pencil marks all over, with some thick parts of black over my body that I assume will be fabric.

"Coal," I say, realizing what I'm supposed to be almost instantly. I admit that it's not the most creative, but whatever; she knows better than I do. "I like it."

"Whenever you're ready."

Davina gestures towards the mirror in the room, and as I walk over to it, I don't really think much of what I'm supposed to do. As I begin to get undressed, I get uncomfortable as she watches me, but the quicker I get this done the quicker I can put clothes back on. Before this, her prep team scrubbed me down and cleaned me up, so that Davina can go right into it.

Once I'm down, I cross my arms over my chest, watching Davina as she opens the closet. Inside, there are a few pieces of shiny and, from what it looks like, tight fabric that is hanging. She takes them out, passes them to me, and the first thing I put on are the pants – I think that's what they're supposed to be, anyway. They cover my mid-section, but they barely go down to upper-thigh.

It's more of underwear if anything, and as she passes me the other pieces of fabric, she raises an eyebrow. "Slip them onto wherever you want. They're supposed to be random."

There's about five pieces, so I slip one up to my shoulder, one on my knee, one on my ankle, one on my wrist, and then on my elbow. She nods her head, and as she pulls out a drawer, I see her having make-up now. I guess she plans on smudging blacks and grays all over me, really making sure I look like a piece of coal.

Holding out my arms and spreading my legs, she takes a rather large brush and begins to brush it all over me. She smudges it here and there, making it darker on some parts. It covers up all of my pale skin, not revealing too much of it anymore. Some of the powder gets near my nose, and I refrain from sneezing, not wanting to interfere with whatever she's doing.

I know that this is the Chariot Rides, but I never thought that I would be wearing something like that. I wouldn't be rude and say I don't like it to Davina, but from what I've seen, other tributes in past years have worn things more… creative, if I may.

"Almost," she says. "Almost."

When she's done with all of the powder, she takes out a canister of gel, scooping up a rather large amount in her hands. She begins to play with my hair, pulling it here and there and patting it down. She's being rather messy about it, but I'm sure this is all a part of some plan to make us look like coal.

The more I think about it, actually, the more I like it.

Coal – District Twelve. There isn't anything abstract about it.

"How do you feel?" Davina asks, backing up and looking at me from behind.

"I still have to sneeze," I joke, only really making myself smirk. "I like it, though, Davina. I like coal. Do you think Lavender will like it?"

"No," she responds quickly, shaking her head. "No she will not. I hope her stylist can tame her, though. If you hear any screams, you'll know who it is."

I still don't see the problem with Lavender. Sure, she was a little edgy on the train with Haymitch, but she wasn't that bad or anything. The Capitol people just seem dramatic.

"Excuse me for a moment."

With that, Davina slips out of the door, the door shutting behind her again. It's silent in the room now, and as I look at myself in the mirror, I find myself chuckling. It really is an ugly outfit and makes me look like a blob of pure black, but that doesn't matter.

The Chariot Rides might be important, but I can't let this bring me down. Besides, it's kind of funny; I just want to see what everyone else will be dressed up as. Like, District One and their luxury, District Four with their water, and District Nine with their grain.

I'm sure I can't look the worst out of all of them.

I just have to keep reminding myself that this isn't all that matters. In the long run, the Chariot Rides mean nothing.

Things don't get serious until the actual Games.

And that part I'm dreading.

* * *

**Emery Adrion  
District Three Female, 16 Years Old  
Chariot Rides**

* * *

"I, for one, like dressing up like this."

Gage makes a noise, nodding his head a little. I shrug, adjusting the wires on the bottom of my skirt, wanting to make sure it looks the best it can. This whole wirey-type outfit, with different colored wires stemming from different parts of my body, might not the most creative outfit, but it's nice. It's better than what last year was; they were dressed up as tablets of some sort.

That was just funny.

The Capitol liked it, though. And that's all that matters.

The chariot at the front begins to roll out of the garage, and as I peer over the edge, I realize I can't see much. I pout, wanting to see what District One looks like, but they're too far out already. I'm tempted to turn around to look at the rest, but I don't, either, since it's almost our time to go out.

"I'm so excited," I whisper, not expecting Gage to answer me. He looks at me, though, for a quick moment, and that's good enough. "Are you? I hope they like us."

"Even if they don't," Gage replies, his voice drowning from the cheers as we begin to roll out. I lean in a little closer to see what he had to say, but I couldn't hear him at all. I shrug again, bracing myself to go in front of the whole crowd. I've never been in front of a crowd this large before, especially in a place where I know nothing about.

As our chariot rolls out of the garage, it all comes as a shock to me. The clapping, the screaming, the whistling; they're all staring down at us, cheering us on. It's ironic, isn't it? It's funny, too, how they're dressed just as oddly as we all are. Like with District Two, they're dressed in some warrior-type costume, with the girl's being a little more revealing. It almost looks exactly what the Capitol people are wearing.

We make it down the large road, and I begin to get a little fidgety, unsure of what to do with my hands. I move my fingers around, and they graze against Gage's, and before I really think about it, I interlock my fingers with his. Gripping onto his hand, I feel his squirm a little, but I don't let him take it away.

It makes me feel more comfortable.

And I think the Capitol will like it.

"I love this," I say, not really to Gage, but myself. I can't even hear my own voice over the loud cheering and clapping, and once I see that we're almost at the circle beneath where the President will speak, I finally look behind me.

District Four is there, with the girl not looking as happy as the boy does. When the boy sees me, he winks, waving his hand a little. Trent was his name. They're wearing some sea-shell outfit, with the shells covering different spots and revealing others. They're both tanned, definitely good-looking.

I hope that Gage and I look like them.

I turn back around, and as our chariot comes to a stop, I grip the railing of the chariot with my other hand. Keeping my right hand tight around Gage's, I hear that's it quieting down a little. The District chariots are forming a semi-circle around the tower in front of us, and even though I should be paying attention to that, I can't help it.

District Twelve finally makes its way to the end of the semi-circle, with both of them dressed up as pieces of coal it looks like. The girl definitely has dark skin naturally, since it's much darker than what the boy looks like. They both have dust of some sorts smudged all over them, making them look exactly what District Twelve is known for – coal.

I'm sure that's what our stylists were going for too.

The crowd finally goes quiet, and above, the doors swing open. President Snow steps forward, taking his place at the edge of the overlooking tower. He wraps his hands around the railing, peering down at us.

"Welcome, tributes!" He says, bringing his hands together. The crowd around us claps, but once the President raises his hands, they all go quiet.

I want to say something to Gage, but I keep quiet now. I'll tell him later.

"Tributes, we salute your courage and sacrifice," he says, making the crowd gradually get louder with their applause. Leaning my weight on Gage for a moment, I can feel him tense up, so I stand back up. Standing here is tiring, especially when all of the wires are in uncomfortable places. "And we wish you a happy Hunger Games!"

Well, they aren't very happy, are they?

The Games are one thing I can't see a positive side to.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Once again, the crowd erupts into applause, screaming, and whistling. The President leaves the tower, the doors swinging back shut after him. This time, District Twelve is the first chariot to turn back around and lead us all back into the garage.

"What do you think of him? The President, I mean," I ask Gage, but I'm not sure he can hear me. I nod my head, knowing that we'll have more time to talk later. I like talking to him, even if he doesn't reply all the time.

He hasn't told me to be quiet yet, so. That's always a good thing.

District Twelve goes into the garage, followed by District Eleven, District Ten, and then so on. We make our way closer to it, and as I look at the crowd one last time, I find myself smiling. They're all looking at me, all seeing what I'm wearing, even if it's silly.

I wonder how they like me and Gage.

"Do you think they like us?" I ask Gage, who turns his head a little to glance at me. "I hope they do."

"As I said before," he replies, going back to what I didn't hear back in the garage. "Even if they don't, it shouldn't matter. We'll be fine without them."

When he says the word 'we'll', I smile. I nod my head, knowing that maybe he is going to think about allying with me. Beetee and Wiress made the point that in the Games, everyone should have an ally. I immediately went to Gage, but Gage didn't look too interested.

I hope he is now.

It'll be easier to get through this with someone like him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hmm. I am rather late on this update, actually. But school and stuff, you know? At least school's over at this point (except for finals), so updates should be more rapid as the Summer begins.

So, what'd you think of the tributes here?

Who stood out? Who do you want to see more of?

And that's about it.


	6. Training Day One

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Larron Arlett  
District One Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Welcome, tributes."

After the man welcomes us, I scan the tributes nearby, already seeing some of the faces beforehand. Ines, my District partner, is standing away from me, all alone at the back of the group. When she looks back at me, I smile at her, not really sure why she's all the way over there.

Have I done something wrong?

I don't think so.

"This is called the Training Center: The place where you'll be spending your next few days, in order to learn some new skills, to practice your old ones, and to see what it'll be like in the arena."

Shrugging, I go back to looking at some of the other tributes, quickly going over some faces and their numbers on their shoulders. The District Five female has a grudge on her face, the District Six boy looks like he's lost, the District Nine girl is nervously biting her lip, and the District Eleven boy has a smug look on his face.

When the Eleven boy looks back at me, he grins a little, showing me his teeth. I wave back, not really sure what he wants, but whatever. He's one of the first people that have interacted with me first.

It's more than Ines has done. She just sits there.

"Now, enjoy your time in here, tributes. Don't waste it."

Turning around to the pair from District Two behind me, I nod my head, getting their attention. The girl, Caelia, smiles at me, her hand on Darien's shoulder, her fingers tapping on it. The girl from District Four, Darya, saunters over, her face rather expressionless.

I greet her with a warm smile.

And, before I can speak, I feel an arm wrap around my neck. It's the male from District Four, Trent, and as he squeezes tighter, I cough a little, making him chuckle.

"Don't squirm!" He says, his voice loud. "But, hello, everyone. My name is Trent, but you can call me Master. Or something like that. Master is nice."

As he lets go of my neck, I fix the collar of my suit, not wanting to look like a mess because of him. I pat down my hair, and then look back at the other Careers sitting in front of me. They're all staring at Trent, none of them really speaking. I guess this will be a quiet pack, then.

I'll have to change that up.

"Hi!" I say, looking around at all of them. "I am Larron Arlett. What are all of your names?"

"Caelia," the girl from District Two says, winking afterwards. "Larron is such a cute name."

"Self-control, Caelia," the boy from Two says, making her laugh. "Darien. Darien Faust."

"I am Darya," is all the girl from District Four says, her hands folded over one another in front of her.

"Where's your partner, kiddo?" Trent asks, and I know that he means Ines. I'm not too sure where she is, either, but I won't say anything for Ines. It isn't my position to answer for her.

Ines can answer for herself.

"I dunno'," I say, changing the topic of discussion. Alliance comes first, then I'll worry about Ines. I'm sure the mentors will ask her about it, anyway – if she doesn't want to join, then so be it.

She shouldn't have to do something she doesn't want to.

"Okay, so," I begin, raising my hand in the air. "Raise your hand if you want to be a part of the Career alliance."

Caelia is the first one to react, and she extends her arm towards me, wiggling her fingers in front of my face. Darien grabs Caelia's arm, raises it for her, and then he raises his own hand. Darya raises her hand slightly, but I don't say anything. If she doesn't want to speak as much as the rest, then I won't say anything.

"This is how we're going to start the alliance? By raising our hands?" Trent sneers, reluctantly raising his own hand. "Raise your hand if you want to be in charge."

I shrug. If he doesn't want to play along then he doesn't have to. I just wanted to break the ice between us all, and now he's asking who wants to be in charge. I won't raise my hand for this one, though. They can have this.

Only Caelia's and Trent's hand shoot up.

"Listen, kiddo," Trent says, shaking his hand in front of Caelia's face. "This is a man's job. You can be, like, my second-in-command."

Caelia rolls her eyes, scoffing at his comment. "Want to fight about it?" She says, her tone in her voice changing, another one of her winks following it. "I'll get my mentor to contact yours. We can have some… fun, if you want."

Well, that is inappropriate.

"You know, I usually would. But, I apologize; Darya already stole my heart. Isn't she just so lovely?"

"Okay, okay," I cut in, throwing out my arms. Even if I come across as rude, it doesn't bother me; we aren't here to flirt with each other. I might not be in the mood to do that much training today, but this is getting us nowhere. "That's enough. Don't make Darya uncomfortable."

"So, what about those leaders?" Darien asks, nudging Caelia with his shoulder. From the looks of it, they already have some relationship between the two of them, while Ines and I aren't even speaking. Trent and Darya don't seem too close, either.

"I'm leader," Trent interjects, his voice serious. "I am leader."

"Isn't this supposed to be fair?" I ask, not really wanting to start something with Trent, but I want to just put it out there. "Shouldn't we vote or something?"

And before anyone can even answer me, Trent is gone, as is Caelia and Darien. Darya remains there, but after a while, she drifts away. I shrug my shoulders, looking around the Training Center to find something to do. Honestly, all I wanted to do today was talk to them, but apparently, that was too much to ask for.

Whatever.

We'll come together soon enough.

As I begin to walk aimlessly around the Center, I try to spot Ines, but I don't see her anywhere. In a weird way, I respect her for doing what she wants. She didn't want to be with the Careers, so she's not. She's not following the form and conforming to everyone else.

She is her own person.

And so am I.

The Games won't be able to change that.

* * *

**Taima Larkin  
District Ten Female, 17 Years Old**

* * *

Sliding my finger-tips along the metal table, I tilt my head to the side, walking slowly.

I approach the male from District Five – Garret, I believe his name is. I wouldn't be that careless to not even know a boy's name before I get involved with them. When he raises him arm to nock another arrow onto the string, I go even closer to him, preparing to really hit things off.

I might be starting too early, but from the looks of it, I don't have many options. I was looking at boy from District Six, too, but I don't want to deal him just yet. He's too jumpy for me. So, first thing's first, I'll go for Garret.

His elbow is now extended back, his arm pulling at the arrow. Before he can release the arrow, I wrap my arm through is, clasping onto his upper-arm. He flinches a little, and as he looks over his shoulder at me, he lowers the bow and arrow.

"Hi, Garret," I say, our arms still entangled. "Looks like you've been working out, hm? I could use someone with your muscles to protect a dainty girl like myself."

And before Garret can say anything else to me or make another facial expression, there's a snort from behind me. Rolling my eyes, I look to see who it is, not really in the mood to have to get into any verbal-fights with anyone. Behind us is the girl from District Eight, Cerise.

"Have some respect for yourself," she says, the look on her making even me disgusted. "Don't take advantage of the poor boy."

"Who, me?" I call over, leaning my head on Garret's shoulder. He hasn't said much, but right now, I don't want him to. I don't need Cerise getting in the way of me attempting to get my allies, if I'll even call them that. "I just want a friend. A friend with oh-so big muscles, a steady aim, and one who doesn't stick their nose in other people's business."

Cerise turns herself so that she's facing me head-on now, and she takes a step forward, the hostility in her face. I don't see what her problem is, really; if she wanted to get with Garret, she should've done it earlier. In the Capitol, and even in the Games, you don't think.

You just act.

You act on impulse, on instinct. There's no time to sit back, think, and then wait for the right moment.

Cerise waves her hand, looking away for a moment. She takes a deep breath, being completely melodramatic. "Well, I hope you enjoy him, Taima."

She even pronounces my name wrong. "It's not Tie-ma, it's Tay-ma," I say, adding emphasis on the correct way to say my name."

"I'm sorry, _Tay_-ma," she says, already spinning on her heels to walk the other way. She looks back over her shoulder, waving at me, but Garret raises his hand to wave back. "Just don't pregnant, honey."

As if.

Directing my attention back to Garret, I finally let go of his arm, standing beside him now. "Sorry about that. Looks like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"It's fine," he utters, this being the first time I've heard his voice. It's deep, and in a way, soothing. I like it. "So, why did you come over here?"

I smile. "To ally, of course!"

"To ally?"

"Why, yes," I say back, holding out my hand. "Would you, Garret of District Five, be my ally?"

When he goes in to shake my head, I smile, but if I could really express my feelings toward him, I'd roll my eyes. This was too easy – way too easy, actually. I wish I had to fight for someone, to actually manipulate them into allying with them. Apparently, Garret is that impressionable if a pretty girl is involved.

Well, at least he's mine now. Now, I just have to work on the boy from District Six, Zimmer. Then I'll have my own little alliance for the arena.

I'll have a whole alliance to myself. That's impressive, isn't it? We might not be Career-status, but still, it's something.

"Garret?" I ask, picking up one of the arrows from the table. I feel the top of it, where the actual point is, and when I hand it to him, he takes it from me.

"Yes, Taima?"

"I think we're going to have a splendid time together."

Garret goes back to his bow and arrow, nodding his head. I wait around for a little bit, just in case he has the need to say something to me, but when he goes completely silent, I just walk away. He's my ally now, anyway; so he really has no choice. He's mine.

He's mine to use, to be at my disposal.

Until he dies, that is. Then, I'll have Zimmer. Garret goes back to his bow and arrow, nodding his head. I wait around for a little bit, just in case he has the need to say something to me, but when he goes completely silent, I just walk away. He's my ally now, anyway; so he really has no choice. He's mine.

He's mine to use, to be at my disposal.

Until he dies, that is. Then, I'll have Zimmer. Or, the other way around, but honestly, I'd prefer Zimmer to die first – when I do get him as an ally, that is. I know I will be able to do it, but I'll need Garret to get involved to. Zimmer seems to, you know, out there.

Garret might be able to help with that one.

When I look over my shoulder at Garret one last time, I smile, seeing him play with that bow and arrow. If he could kill and protect me, that'd be even better. It would save me a lot of work, too. As I turn back around, I see someone next to me, which makes me jump a little.

"I'm back," Cerise says quietly. "I'm not done with you."

"Please, leave me alone," I quip, not having to keep up some act that Garret will see. I don't need to restrain myself anymore. "Seriously, you're annoying."

"And you're a whore," Cerise snaps. "But, I'm not complaining."

"What do you want, anyway? If it's to ally with me, the answer is no."

"I would know better than that. It's not cute to take advantage of boys like Garret."

"What does it matter to you?" I ask, getting fed up with her standing next to me. If I wouldn't be reprimanded, I would throw myself on top of her, and maybe even punch a little. "You're giving me a headache."

Cerise shrugs, and as she spins on her heels again to walk away, her hair flips over shoulder. I stand there emotionless, watching Cerise as she walks away and back towards the knot-tying station.

I can't let people like her get in my way. I don't need distractions

I'm here to survive.

I'm here to _win_.

* * *

**Darya Mercado  
District Four Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"If the Games were based solely on looks, you or Caelia would win. Tie for first, definitely. Ines would be, like, fifth."

Nodding, I roll the spear around in my hand, waiting for Trent to finish up. He continues to babble on, and although I know it's rude to ignore him completely, this senseless rambling is really giving me a headache. I almost got him to shut up, but I made the mistake of opening my mouth.

It's tiring listening to him talk.

We should be training – weapons, survival skills, everything. That is why we're here; making friends and engaging in conversations should be all put to the side. We aren't here to make friends, after all. At least not me, anyway. Maybe Trent needs someone in their life, but if he wants anyone to respond back to him, he should go talk to Caelia.

She talks just as much as he does.

"Don't you agree, Darya? Don't you think one of Larron's eyes is larger than the other?"

"Trent," I deadpan, turning towards him, the spear still in my hand. "Can we talk about this later? I just to want to work on my spear-skills, please."

Trent holds his hands up, feigning being offended by my comments. He nods his head, makes a face, and backs up. He mumbles something under his breath, and as I watch him, I see him going back towards Caelia. I heard Caelia raise her voice before, that being what made him come over to me.

He has no one else, really. It's not that I don't like him – he's just a handful.

Weighing the spear in my hand, I raise my arm a little, wanting to see how relatively heavy the spear. The ones back in District Four's training facilities were lighter than this. So were the tridents we worked with, but nonetheless, I'm sure I can successfully use one of the Capitol's spears.

I just need to practice with them.

There is always room for improvement.

The dummy is placed a few feet in front of me, and I raise my arm, I look over my shoulder one last time. I make sure no one is looking at me, not wanting to mess up in front of anyone. Now is the time where the Gamemakers are already watching us, and that's enough pressure as it is. I don't need anyone judging me too.

Anyone who did judge me probably can't use one of these spears either.

As I release the spear from my grasp, I watch it soar through the air, impaling the dummy right in the lower-chest. That's not where I was aiming for – I wanted the center area of the chest. I didn't want the lower, I wanted the center.

What if that was a real person?

What if I didn't hit him in the right spot? What if my missed target let them get away, or let them come after me? What if that wouldn't kill them?

Varina could always do this. She always hit the right spot that would kill anyone. She could do it, so why can't I?

Grabbing another spear quickly, I try again, this time the spear landing in the upper chest. I shake my head, and as I reach for another spear, I see Trent standing there again. His hands are on his hips, his chin craned upwards and he's looking down at me. Trent smirks, but I remain there, not taking the spear from the table.

"I'm back," he says, gesturing his nod towards Caelia. "She told me to leave her alone."

"I would appreciate that too, Trent."

"But, I'm bored. Aren't you bored?"

"Why don't you do something – I don't know – productive?"

"Woah, woah, woah. There is _no _need to get snappy, Darya. I was only coming to help you."

"With what?"

"The spear. See, your arm is angled too little. You want to tighten your elbow, bringing it out more. Extend it as if a pillow or something was there."

A pillow? Is that the best analogy he can come up with?

But, for now, I'll listen to what he has to say. I extend my arm out further, making it more perpendicular to my body. He nods his head, and as we make quick eye-contact, he winks. Looking back at my two failures on the dummy, I grip the spear tightly, and with one throw, launch it flying towards the dummy.

Before it even gets into the dummy, Trent is clapping. I look away, and when I look back, the spear hit right in the center of the dummy – just like I wanted before. Letting out a breath of relief, I look up at the Gamemakers on the balcony above, not sure if any of them are looking at me.

Did they see that? I hope they did.

"Thanks usually works," Trent says, winking again. He grabs his own spear, and without any preparation, throws the spear at a dummy a little further than mine. It impales the dummy in the neck, making it bounce back a little, but the springs on the bottom of the dummy make it stand back up. "You might even become as good as I am soon."

"Thank you, Trent."

"No problem, kiddo."

Trent goes back to being quiet, now entertaining himself with his own spears. I always expected him to have a wide skill set, but now that I see what he could do with a spear, it's proven to me. He might get distracted easily and not stay in one place for more than five minutes, but maybe that's because he already knows what he's doing.

Do I know what I'm doing?

What if I don't?

Am I just as well-equipped as Trent is? Can I do what he can? Can I act like he can? Does he have what it takes to be a victor? But, more importantly: Do I?

Am I good enough to be a victor?

Trent is that good.

_I want to be that good._

_If I want to win, I have to be better._

* * *

**Gage Orsini  
District Three Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"These suits are really tight. Like, shouldn't we be comfortable? I can't run in this."

Emery bends down and touches her toes, and as she springs back up, her hair falls out of place. She frantically fixes it, and as she holds one of the strands of hair up, she smiles. She goes back to fixing it, and once she's done, she bounces upwards a little.

"Okay! We are good!" She cheers, a pensive look on her face. "Now, what do we do?"

"I don't know," I answer her, not really sure what she wanted me to say. There are so many things to do, but each station is already full with different tributes, and even Emery said herself that it'd be better to stay clear of anyone else for the day.

It makes sense, so I'll give her that. Now isn't the time to dive into any other alliances or to meet any new people, now is the time to watch, to observe. To form judgments from afar.

I don't really know even if I want to get another ally. Emery hasn't asked me yet, but I don't plan on asking her, either. It just sort of happened that way. I don't really have a choice.

I think I would be better off with only one ally, anyway. It's only one more person to worry about.

"How about knot-tying?" Emery asks, not really giving me a choice. She's already scampering off into that direction, her hand trailing behind her for me to follow. I make myself walk after her, and seeing that the station is completely empty makes me more comfortable going over there.

It's not what I don't want to talk to any other tributes, but one is enough. Although it's hard to realize, being here isn't about making friends and whatnot. Allies are one thing, friends are another. Emery is an ally – well, she thinks I'm her friend, but I know the problems with that.

I just don't want to get myself too attached. That's always been the problem.

"Hurry up, Gage!" Emery calls over, already spreading out some of the materials on the long table.

"Coming, Emery," I reply, my voice too low for her to even hear. When I get to the table, Emery hands me a few pieces of string, as well as clamp of some sort. I begin to play with it all, not having a book or anything to teach me to how to do it. Emery's making some odd design with the string, not really caring too much about the actual point of this station.

I look at what she's doing, and then she places it down. "Are you okay today, Gage? You seem so quiet."

Shaking my head, I force a grin onto my face. "Oh, don't worry, Emery. It just will take some time to get used to all of this."

"That's the truth," Emery replies, going back to playing with the string. "This is all so scary. Don't you think so?"

I nod.

It's not so much scary as different. Being in the place with all cruel people, none of whom have a concept of reality. The place where all of its citizens sit upon their thrones, completely oblivious to the treatment they subject the Districts to. That's the Capitol for you, though. I'm just not too happy with being here.

It's better than District Three, though. There's nothing there.

It was always the same routine. The same mundane routine, seeing the same people over and over again. I always wanted to go somewhere else, yet here I am, completely miserable being in the Capitol. I got what I wanted, though, which is a first.

"Don't you agree?" Emery asks, and as she snaps me out of my thinking, I don't know what she was just talking about. "Don't you think the Careers are really tall this year?"

"Yes," I say. "They are rather tall."

Looking over at the swords station, I see the two from District Two, Darien and Caelia. I remember them from the Reaping recaps, and as I watch them, they look exactly the same. Same confident aura to them, same smug look on their faces. They're just talking to one another, not even practicing with the swords.

No one is there except them. The two of them there is probably intimidating everyone so that they stay away. That's probably exactly what they want – to scare the other tributes.

At the archery station is the boys from District One and District Four. The only two Careers I didn't see were the girl from One, which I haven't seen all of this time, and the girl from Four. The boy from Four has the boy from One in a headlock, rubbing his fist into the top of his head.

"They're acting as if this is some joke," I mumble, catching Emery's attention. "As if they won't die."

Emery tenses up, pulling back her hands. "Let's not talk about that."

"There's no going around it," I snap, not really censoring myself around her. When I see that Emery really isn't comfortable with talking about this, I inhale, taking a deep breath. Changing the subject, I ask, "How's your knot coming along?"

Emery answers, but I'm not really listening anymore. I understand the whole ally-aspect of this relationship we have, but if she can't even talk about death, what will come of this? Would she be able to fight if it came down to it? I don't think she would.

Yet, I don't feel like I could end this right now. For some reason, I feel attached to Emery, something I've never felt with some people. She's the only one here that somewhat gets me, who knows anything about me. If I were to leave her, who would she have?

I couldn't do that to her. She's too innocent, too naïve about it all. She wanted to ally with me, and even when I showed no interest, she still went for it. She's not cut out for the Games, though, is she? She's too sweet, too delicate. I don't even mean to be patronizing, but that's the truth. Even our mentors realize that. They said that she's a good person, one that would be a good ally.

They said nothing about me, though. What am I, then?

Emery is a good person. But, me?

I don't know what I am.

I'm not sure anything's even there for me to be a good person.

_I just feel empty. _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There you go: Training Day One!

As you can see, I'm changing it up to four POVs per Training Chapter. Per most chapters, actually. I just want include more and have more time to showcase some of the tributes. It only adds about 1000 words, anyway, so it's not too bad.

Anyway, what do you think about these tributes?

Who stood out? Who do you want to see more of?

General comments on POVs and whatever else you want are always good as well.


	7. Training Day Two

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Darien Faust  
District Two Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Still up for that offer of having some fun, Caelia?"

Chuckling softly, I glance over my shoulder, the sword still gripped in my hand. Caelia robotically stiffens her back, places down her dagger, and brings her finger up to Trent's chin. She raises his chin a little, and as he smirks, Caelia doesn't even do much as let her mouth twitch.

"It's flattering, but the only thing I would ever to you is kill you, Trent."

"And what about after you kill me?" Trent teases, making me chuckle again.

"That's called necrophilia," I interject, going back to practicing with my sword. I swing it a few times, slicing up the dummy from its legs to its neck. "And District Two does not condone that."

"Do not interrupt, kiddo."

"Excuse you, Trent. That is my friend," Caelia feigns whining, scooping back up the dagger in both of her hands. She looks me up and down, and then looks at Trent again. "Take care of him, Darien. He's being a bully."

I nod towards Trent, and as he opens his mouth to say something else, I quickly cut him off. Although I do enjoy his grating presence, there comes a point where enough is enough. He's just one of those types of people.

"You heard the girl."

Placing the sword back on the rack, I shuffle towards Caelia's area, leaning against the wall behind the dummy. She hacks away at it, not really giving me much regard, but she's good at multitasking, apparently. She can talk and kill at the same time – isn't she just lovely?

"What are the rest up to?" Caelia asks, and as I look around the Training Center, I see Larron off on his own, as is Darya. Darya's still with the spears, while Larron is just hanging around the survival skills. "That includes Ines. Where's she at?"

"Does it matter?" I ask, not being able to find her around. For one thing, I haven't seen her around much, but I know she has to be here somewhere. There are a lot of tributes, anyway, and a lot of stations. "You're still the finest one of them all."

"I like it better when Trent says it," she replies, looking up from her dagger and dummy. As Caelia turns around for a moment, we both look to see where Trent's gone to, and we see him hovering near the plant identification station where the girl from District Eleven and the boy from District Twelve are.

"That's creepy," Caelia comments, shrugging her shoulders. "They might be too young for him."

Caelia doesn't give me a chance to respond, going right back to attacking the dummy. I watch her technique, the way her form reflects everything District Two has taught her. The way her arm is angled, the force of her swipe, her recoiling.

I wish I could do that.

I wish I could be like her.

But, I never could and I still can't be. I was always second-rate in the Training Center back in District Two, never reaching the standards set by the Trainers themselves. But, I stayed there, not wanting to give up. I tried and tried, yet nothing came of it.

I still am that second-rate trainee from District Two, but now, I'm a tribute. I'm more than some trainee now.

"Just going to sit there and look pretty?" Caelia asks, giving me a quick smirk. "At least tell me about some of the tributes. I like hearing you talk."

I shrug my shoulders, complying with what Caelia has asked me. I'm not really doing anything, anyway, and I don't want to touch anymore weapons. I'll do it tomorrow, since it is the last day of training. I've done enough for the day. As I look around the Training Center, I say whatever comes to my mind first.

"The boy from Eleven – Trevor, right?" I say, tapping my fingers against the wall I'm leaning on. "He's strong. He could probably kill Larron."

"Anyone could," Caelia comments, giggling. "No, I'm sorry. I take that back. He has a nice personality."

"His hair is cool," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. He's not a bad guy, either. Getting bored of just scouting the tributes, I decide to make a joke and say, "Darien, the one from Two looks alright. He's muscular. Tall. Handsome."

"I heard he has daddy issues," Caelia sneers, rolling her eyes, pausing for a moment from her dagger. "That's why he volunteered, apparently."

At the mentioning of me volunteering, I tense up, choosing not to respond anymore. I stare at Caelia, now wondering why she volunteered. Did she volunteer for the wealth? For the fame? Or for a personal reason? Did she volunteer for the same reason I did?

To prove herself?

Isn't that why we're all here, anyway? To prove ourselves one way or another? I'm here to show District Two what I'm capable of. I might even doubt myself here and there, but at the core, I know it's why I'm here. I was fed up with the way life was going on back in District Two, and it was time for change.

I had enough.

Enough of the Training Center, enough of the other kids, enough of the person I was.

"Touchy subject, hm?" Caelia asks, fixing her hair in the reflection of the metal table. She makes a face, ending it with a smirk in my direction. "It's personal, I get it."

"Yeah," I say, sighing. "Personal."

But, I can't get the thought out of my mind. Just by Caelia mentioning me volunteering, now I think about it. At the time of the Reaping, I just sprinted up there. No real thought process, just pure impulsiveness. Do I regret it, though? Do I wish I were back in that same home with the same people?

No. I'm here now and I have to accept that.

I'm here to win… It's what I volunteered for. It's what I trained for. It's what my life has revolved around.

_This is what I want._

_And I have to start acting like it is. _

* * *

**Liora Marcette  
District Six Female, 16 Years Old**

* * *

"You're the one who volunteered, right?"

At the sound of the male voice, I plaster a smile on my face, widening my eyes a little. I turn around slowly, playing with the ends of my hair a little, and when I see who it is, I gush a little. The boy from District Four, Trent, with his broad shoulders and styled hair stands in front of me, a silly grin on his face.

A boy.

I like boys.

And boys like me.

"How'd you know it was?" I ask, as if the question wasn't obvious. Anyone with a pair of eyes could figure out that it was me. The girl from District Six who volunteered, the girl she volunteered for being all too familiar to her. But, yes, that was me.

I was the one who volunteered.

The one who regrets it.

"I could never forget a body like yours," he says, winking a little. I tilt my head to the side, placing the hunk of metal down now, smiling some more. Looking him up and down, I see him looking at me, and then I get the idea. This could be my outlet.

My outlet to get an ally. Or, in this case, allies.

This is my chance to infiltrate the right crowd of people in the Hunger Games. The Careers – that's who everyone is scared of. Who everyone wants to be, the group that runs the Games. They are the group I want to be in.

They are the group I have to be in.

"You don't have to," I flirt back, making myself sick to my stomach. But, I'll always take a compliment from a fine man like himself, and frankly, I'm getting something out of this. Flirting isn't as far as I would go, but not in front of everyone here. I'll save that for later on.

As I look behind Trent, I see the rest of the Careers huddled around each other. They're all there except for the girl from District One, Ines. I noticed that she never attached herself to them from the beginning, so that only leaves the door open for me. I can join that alliance.

I'll say whatever it takes and do whatever I must to get into that alliance.

Then, I'll be with the right people. The ones who will reflect my skills and fortes, balancing out the rest. I deserve to be in a group like them, anyway, even if I come from District Six. I was always smarter and wealthier than anyone from that District, anyway. It only makes sense for someone of my status.

First, I just have to work on Trent. He'll be easy, though. They all are.

"So, what brings you over here, Trent?" I ask, not really caring too much at all. I have to start this somewhere, though, and if I have to drone on about something so trivial then I will. "Did I allure you in that easily?"

Trent chuckles, nodding his head. "Just wanted to see what you were all about. A volunteer from District Six is unheard of. What are you in it for, anyway? The fame? The money?"

My smile faults a little bit, but I regain my composure, not wanting to discuss that or think about it right now. I already thought about me volunteering from every angle, all of it giving me a headache. I wink at him, saying, "You don't have to worry about that."

"I like a girl with mystery," he says, as if he's speaking under his breath. I'm glad he likes me; I would too. "What are you doing over here all alone? There's no way someone else hasn't tried to pick you up yet."

I raise my eyebrows, not wanting to remind him that this is the Hunger Games. Not some social gathering where he can take me home –if it was that, anyway, I would go home with him in a heartbeat – but I'll let him believe whatever he wants. If he has some infatuation with me and craving for me, that makes it that much easier to get into the Careers.

I shrug. "All alone," I say, twirling my hair. "What about you? Have the Careers congregated yet?"

Trent gestures with his head over his shoulder, and as I look passed him, I see them still all standing there. The girl from Two has her arm wrapped around the boy from Two's neck, while the boy from One and girl from Four just stand off to the side. See? They could use me.

Everyone could use me. Literally, they could. If I use people, I should get it in return. People always have, anyway.

"Yeah," he says, not really interested in them it seems. "We do have one less member, though."

There we go.

"Hm, there's only five this year?" I ask, the smile on my face only growing because I know I've got him. He's already mine and he doesn't know it. "What about that sixth member?"

Trent winks. "We're just, you know, surveying the rest to see if anyone fits the bill."

"And have you found anyone?"

"I think I have."

As Trent turns around, he holds out his hand behind him. When our hands come into contact, I smile, seeing him smiling the angle of his face. I wrap my hand around his, and as he leads me off towards them, I feel accomplished. Even if it took a few lies and a few exaggerations, I got it. I got him exactly where I wanted him.

Even if this isn't me, it's the only way I'll get anywhere. Here, do you really have to be yourself?

I never have been able to me myself, anyway.

That was never good enough for anyone.

But, now, I don't have to worry about that. I am good enough for everyone know – I am. I am the whole package, the package that the Careers have fortunately picked up to add to their little clique. I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere.

I'm not doing this for Elise now. It never was, anyway, but everyone thinks it is. This was always for me. For my reputation, for my image.

And you know what would make me look _that _much better?

Winning.

And so I will.

It'll be fitting for someone like me.

* * *

**Ardell Chanson  
District Nine Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

_Make a friend. Find an ally. _

Those were Amaranth's words. To find a friend, to make an ally. I'm sure that was easy enough Amaranth – the woman who used to be a beautiful blonde – during her Games. It continued to be easy for her, anyway, when she came back to District Nine. Once Dakota won his Games, they clicked together well.

Amaranth has someone. Dakota has someone.

But, can I really compare the two? They are adults. I am only eighteen, while my District partner, Riel, is sixteen. Would he even be interested in an alliance? In a… friendship?

I've never been interested in friendships or any sorts – they never work out for me, or anyone, for that matter. Anyone I meet always end up getting hurt in some way, so I choose to stay away. I choose to distance myself, to not get close enough to anyone.

That still doesn't stop me from asking myself if I want an ally, though. Riel is my top choice, but would he be interested? He's always so quiet, always off by himself. He was talking to a few other tributes before, but then he just walked away, the same expression on his face.

Is he looking for one?

Is he listening to Amaranth's advice? Does that mean I should as well?

It's not that easy, though. It never is that easy.

I always end up getting what I want in a friendship, but not what I need.

Yet, everyone else here has a friend already. The Careers have each other, as well as some other random alliances. The boy from Ten, Twelve, and the girl from Eleven, for example. They have each other – and who do I have?

No one.

I never have.

Turning my back to everyone, I stare down at the station in front of me, the plants and leaves all crumpled together in a messy pile. I move my hands through it, not really knowing if I should be touching any of it and not really caring, either. Right now, I'm stuck in this empty space, not sure where to go or who to interact with. Is that my fault, anyway?

Shouldn't people want to approach me?

"Hi. Your name is Ardell, right?"

"What do you want?" I snap reactively, only glancing over my shoulder to see who's there. I see that it's the boy from District Seven, his name being Dalton. He stands there, just staring at me.

Dalton shrugs, his eyebrows crinkling. "Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Next time, don't."

From the corner of my eye, I see Dalton walk away in a defeated sort of way. He sluggishly walks back to the axe station, joining up with his District partner. I roll my eyes, and as I watch him walk away, I know I messed up.

_Maybe this is what they mean._

_That I'm snappy. That I'm stand-offish. That I can't make friends or allies._

_That I'm a self-destructive person._

It's just that I can't trust anyone. It's different when I go up to someone and start a conversation – usually with an ulterior motive in my mind – but when someone comes up to me, I can't trust anyone. I can't let my guard down like that, letting someone take advantage of me opening up to them or beginning to trust them.

That's when they'll manipulate you. And I am not one to be manipulated.

That's what I've learned in life.

Picking up a few pieces of the leaves, I crumple them some more, watching them fall back to the table. I push them to the side, dumping more of the leaves out of the canister. I sit there, picking them up with my fingers, crushing them. Such delicate leaves, being so easily torn apart and throw away.

That's exactly what I can't be.

Delicate. Docile. Vulnerable. Gullible.

That will get me killed in place like this. In the Capitol where the people are abhorrent, all being concealed behind some façade. It's almost even worse than District Nine – where the people just blatantly disliked me because I built walls around me. Because I didn't let people in, because I didn't trust anyone.

Whose fault is that, anyway? It's theirs, not mine.

The Capitol is even worse, with them all not even being deemed human beings by me. They're animals, like disgusting tramps that enjoy the death of twenty-three children every year. The Hunger Games are even worse; killing is horrible. It's all a death sentence, an inevitable death sentence that I can't escape.

It's all too much to deal with. Being in the Hunger Games, having to kill… I could never. The blood on my hands, watching someone slowly fade away – I could never. Yet, I know it has to be done.

I accept that, though.

I want to survive.

And, unfortunately, that means I'll have to kill. That means I'll have to get my hands dirty, but not like I am right now with these leaves. I have to get blood on my hands, whether I like it or not. Maybe that's why no one can trust me?

Because I am willing to kill.

I am willing to betray someone else. I am willing to stab them in the back, just like people have been doing all of these years. That's just the type of person I am now, anyway, and I can't do anything about it.

And if I can't find someone to accept that, then maybe I'm better off with no friends or allies. I made it this far with no one, so what will be different? Seeing everyone in this Training Center talk about their allies and be near them is sickening.

It's truly sickening.

Everyone here is untrustworthy. No one actually likes each other here. They're only obstacles, people standing in the way of victory. I'm prepared to take this challenge, though. I'm not afraid of these obstacles. I'm not afraid to do what I have to do in order to win.

I'll make sure to win.

It's my only possible option now.

I've come too far in life just to die.

_I've been through too much. _

* * *

**Salya Ionatti  
District Seven Female, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"Throw it, Dalton. Let's see what you got."

"What does it matter to you?" He asks, a smug grin on his face. "Don't want to make you feel bad about yourself."

Rolling my eyes, I wave my hand in front of me, letting him continue. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stop babbling."

As he raises his arm to throw the axe, I watch his every movement, taking down mental on his form and strategy. Even if it's only Day Two, I picked up a few things from watching the Careers and the Trainers. The girl from District Two, Caelia, can throw an axe, while the boy from District One isn't the best. The male from District Six can't, while Dalton can, but he can work on it.

I can use these observations later on.

The axe lands on the dummy at least, but it's off from the center a little bit. He still shrugs, though, and grabs another one. I lean back against the wall, completely expressionless to what's going on around me. I just watch Dalton, as well as a few other tributes around the Center.

Another axe, another throw, another hit on the dummy.

He isn't that bad, actually.

"I'm good, I know."

Nodding my head, he steps to the side, letting me step up to the space next. I grip an axe in my hand, the black material around the handle of it fitting comfortably with my grasp. Not looking at him at all, I focus myself, thinking back at what my brother went through. Kav could have been standing right here, using an axe just like I am.

This was all before he died, though. Before the male from Two slaughtered those two years ago.

Shaking my head, I digress from these thoughts, not wanting to think about that right now. I'm here for him, determined to win these Games in his honor.

With the axe in my hand, I let it fly, watching it slam right into the dummy's head. It recoils back a little, and I hear Dalton chuckle, but I grab another one without looking at him. I don't need any distractions right now. As I let this axe fly again, it lands in chest of the same dummy now.

Over and over, I throw another axe, only getting tired after about the sixth one.

When Dalton's hand wraps around my arm, I snap around, not realizing how many I had thrown at it. I shake my head, being completely distracted by the thoughts of Kav again, the image of him with that axe lodged into his head tearing at my soul.

"Take a break," he says quietly, and I listen to him. I let him go back up, leaning back up against the wall.

Looking around the Training Center again, I try to focus in on a group of people, and that's when I see a group of the younger boys and girl here. It's the male from District Ten, the male from District Twelve, and the girl from District Eleven all standing around one another. They're talking, smiles on all of their faces.

An alliance, perhaps?

Seeing them makes me question whether or not I really want to ally with Dalton. Both of our mentors, Blight and Adalia, brought up the idea. I didn't entertain it, but as I think about it more, maybe it'll help me out in the end. Kav went through his Games two years without an ally, which makes me think that maybe he would have survived if he had one.

I'm sure Dalton will want to ally, so that's no problem.

"I'll keep it short," I say out-loud, catching his attention. "Allies or not?"

Dalton grins, nodding his head. "Allies."

Dalton goes back to tossing the axe around, as I go back to watching a few of the tributes. I spot the girl from District One walking around alone, which surprises me; is she a Career or not? As I see the rest of the Careers in a circle, I see someone else – the girl from District Six. Maybe they kicked out the girl from One and replaced her?

Or maybe she didn't want to join at all? I respect that. The Careers are all bullshit. They're monsters and savages. I would want to stay away from them, too; they're all untrustworthy and would backstab you just like that.

In front of me, the girl from District Twelve passes by, looking me up and down. She walks passed me slowly, her arms tight to her side and her shoulders barely swaying. She makes a face, and as I stare back, I refrain from saying something to her. I just stare back, not wanting to deal with anyone right now.

Dalton is enough, but I don't need some girl from District Twelve wanting to start anything.

"What was that all about?" Dalton asks, glancing at the Twelve girl as she walks away.

"Maybe she thought you were cute," I joke, only fueling to his ego. "Or maybe she thought _I_ was cute."

"Doubt that."

Dalton places his axe down, and as he comes near me, he leans on the wall too. We both just stand there, each one of us having a leg kicked up to balance us. As a tribute passes in front of us, we watch them, our heads trailing down then back up.

Observations are key. These might be first impressions, and although they are usually entirely wrong, I might learn something from this. I learned quite a lot from just watching Dalton and a few others, so it can't hurt to see what the rest are like.

By watching them, you can see their strengths and flaws. You can see what they excel at, what they have trouble at. What their preferred weapons are and what stations they gravitate towards. This is the time to learn your place among the tributes, even if most are training with weapons.

I know what I can do with an axe.

I can kill with one.

And if I have to do so in the Games, nothing will stop me.

I'll be doing it for Kav.

I'll be winning for him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There's Training Day Two!

Now, for questions:

What do you think about these tributes?

Who stood out? Who do you want to see more of?

General comments on POVs and whatever else you want are always good as well.


	8. Training Day Three

w w w. setinstonehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Ines Maiva  
District One Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"This place is really ugly."

Tapping the weight on the ground with my foot, I stare at the trainer, who's only response is to stare back at me. I make a face, raising my eyebrow, yet he still doesn't respond. Shrugging my shoulders, I go back to talking to him, seeing as there's no one else to speak to.

Apparently, I'm not the most approachable person.

For the Careers, mostly. They only one that attempted to speak to me was Larron, and even then, it lasted for about thirty seconds. Perhaps that's why I don't have any allies, but frankly, I don't care. If I'm somehow supposed to ally with someone, the supernatural forces of the Capitol will put us together, right?

Or is that bullshit too?

So, for now, I'm alone. Well, actually not alone, since I have the trainer with me.

"It seems like a work camp in here. And, let me tell you, I've seen what work camps look like. I've probably slept in a few from time to time, so."

"Do you honestly think he cares?"

At the sound of a voice behind me, I tilt my head, making a face to the trainer. He just stands there expressionlessly, as if our past three days together meant nothing. He might not reply to me at all, but it's nice for him to listen. Slowly, I turn around, seeing the District Five girl standing there, a disgusted look on her face.

"What did you say?" I ask, looking her up and down. "I wasn't listening."

"Neither is he," she retorts, and when I look closely, I don't like the way she speaks. Her tongue hangs out of her mouth, with it pushing right against her teeth when she closes her lips. "What are you looking at?"

"I don't like your mouth."

"I don't like how annoying you are. Seriously, go do something and not just stand there like a lost puppy. What about the Careers? Were you rejected by them?"

"No," I answer truthfully, since they never even really bothered to ask me to ally. I would have declined, anyway, since they are not my types of people. They all have that sheep type of mentality, one that I absolutely despise.

Seriously, don't they get bored of doing the same thing year after year? It's a poor strategy, if you ask me, for all the strongest tributes here to congregate. You're basically asking for betrayal and for a self-destructive alliance.

"Then what?" She asks, and only at this point do I remember her name. It's Clara, which is a horrendous name. Cashmere wouldn't stop babbling about Clara, another District One victor, so that name is now ruined for me.

Thank you, Cashmere. Thank you.

"I just don't want to, is that a problem?" I say, getting edgy. I make a hand gesture, actually confused as to why she's wasting her time standing here. "Where's your alliance?"

"I don't have one."

"Cool."

Turning my back to Clara, I go back to leaning against the table, tapping the weight on the ground with my foot. The trainer is still standing there, and I smile at him, hoping that Clara is already gone by the time I look over my shoulder. Giving her the silent treatment might not be the best idea, but it always worked for me in District One.

If you don't like someone, don't talk to them.

And if you really don't like them, you're allowed to have a little fun. Mock them, if you must, or ridicule them. That will get your point across.

"Is she still there?" I whisper to the trainer, putting my hand in front of my mouth just in case. "I hope she left."

When it's all clear, I go back to being more relaxed, glad that Clara finally left. I still don't see why she came over here in the first place, but by her mentioning the Careers, I can't help but look at them. In one corner of the Training Center, they're all there, now with the girl from District Six, Liora.

I overheard Larron talking about her to Cashmere and Gloss. Larron tried to be nice about it all, but you could hear it in his voice that he's not a big fan. Neither am I, even if I don't know anything about her. It's people like her that make me sick.

Pretentious. Intrusive. Attention-seeking.

She's only there to prove something, right? Why else would she want to join the Careers? She has her arm hung around Trent's, while Caelia eyes her up and down. Darien and Larron just kind of stand there, while Darya is off to the side. Just like what I thought, I can tell that alliance will be a shit-show.

I give it two or three days until it implodes.

I don't need them, anyway. I don't need anyone. Not for the Hunger Games, that is. It's all about survival, and trust me, I can survive on my own. Being kicked out of my house about a year ago from my mother taught me quite a few things. It wasn't easy at first, but I got used to it and I kind of preferred it. I was away from my mother, the domineering and outright ridiculous woman that constrained me to my house.

With her, I didn't like the way I was living. While I was on my own, I felt better. I felt free. Liberated, even.

What will be different about the Games? I'll be on my own, won't I?

I can do this on my own.

I don't need to worry about anyone else's slack. I'm here for me, after all. There's no turning back at this point, either. I chose to volunteer, to put myself on that stage and go into the Hunger Games. I went against all odds – my mother, in particular – to do this.

To train in the first place. To become my own person. To mold my own path in life. That's why I volunteered, I suppose, or maybe it's something completely different.

I'm not entirely sure on _why_ I'm here, but I'm here now.

And I'll make the best of it.

* * *

**Trent Ethillion  
District Four Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"She isn't my ally."

"Who?"

"Liora."

"Yes, she is."

Caelia lets out a cackle while flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically. She shakes her head, directing her attention where Liora is. She was following me around earlier – which is completely fine by me – but now, she's all attached to Larron.

Which is still fine by me, I suppose, but Larron needs to know she's mine.

"No, she really isn't," Caelia says. "And since she is not _my_ ally, I can kill her."

"No, you can't," I reply, shaking my head. "Or else I would kill Darien."

Caelia rolls her eyes, as if there's indifference in her towards Darien. That even if though he's her District partner, she wouldn't even care if I killed him. I would, too – kill him, that is. I would never kill Darya, even if she ignores me half the time and chooses to isolate herself.

Or maybe I'm overthinking it.

I always tend to do that.

"I'm getting bored of you, Trent," Caelia says, departing from the last few minutes of talking about Liora. I never expected Caelia to like Liora since they clash too much, but it was worth a try. Liora's staying either way and I can assure that. "You're lucky today is the last day of training."

As I begin to back up, I face her, holding up my hands. "Have your time alone, Caelia. And if you want me, you know where to find me," I say, winking at her. She smirks, and as she goes back to her weapons, I linger for a moment.

She really is good looking.

Not as good looking as Liora, though.

For a moment, I have the urge to actually train with weapons, but that's quickly put to the side once I see Darya near the spears again. Ever since the first day of training, she's invested all of her time in those spears. I tried to help as much as I could, really, but she's still there.

There's not much you can do after a while. I'm sure she's good enough, anyway. All she has to do is kill, not show us any tricks or anything. It's not that big of a deal.

Just as I make my way towards Darya, Liora and Larron come over as well. Caelia's still off on her own, and Darien – well, I really don't know. He's probably off to the side somewhere just sitting there, cracking jokes to himself. He's lazy like that, and when I think about it, I've never really seen him pick up a weapon.

Maybe that's why I don't like him.

He's useless.

"Allies!" I call out, reaching out to grab Larron by the arm. I wrap my arm around his neck tightly, squeezing him right into my chest. "What's up?"

"I don't like this," Larron mumbles, but I ignore his plea for me to let go of him. I wink at Liora, who returns it with one of her to-die-for smiles. Darya turns her back to us, picking up another spear and tossing it towards a target.

"Good morning, Trent," Liora says, and as I let go of Larron, he immediately fixes his hair. He pats it down, swooshing it back to the side. "District Two doesn't want to join us?"

"I don't blame them," Darya utters, not even glancing over her shoulder at us. We all go silent, watching Darya tossing her last spear from her collection at the target. It hits right in the center, and once Darya turns around, Liora claps. "What weapons do you like, Liora?"

Liora raises an eyebrow, casting me a look. I never actually thought about whether or not she could kill, or use a weapon at all. "Knives. Quick and easy, you know?"

"Care to show us?" Darya asks, her voice monotone like usual. "You've been gawking at me, so it's only fair."

"I'd love to see that!" Larron pipes up, who is someone else I really don't know could kill if it came down to it. I've seen him working with some weapons here and there, but it was nothing spectacular.

Liora clears her throat, stiffening up a little. She lingers for a moment, looking at the ceiling and then back at Darya. "I would, really, Darya, but I like a little mystery. I wouldn't want to give away everything I can do all at once."

Darya chuckles, the laugh not really escaping her throat. She nods her head, saying, "Oh."

"Shouldn't we talk strategy, anyway?" Liora asks, looking at me, probably wanting me to jump in on the conversation. I nod my head, raising my hand, hoping that Caelia and Darien see it from wherever they are. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, I hear a few footsteps from behind us.

"Aw, the gang's all here," Caelia says, and as she gets closer, I hope she doesn't start anything with Liora. Just like Liora said, now is the time to talk about strategy. This is the last time we will all be together until the Bloodbath, anyway. "What's the gathering for?"

"Strategy," I say, directing the conversation already. "I expect each of us to make two kills each other in the Bloodbath. That'd be a grand total of twelve, yes?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Caelia replies, nudging Darien in his arm. "Darien and I will pick up the slack for anyone who fails to meet that requirement. I won't say any names."

"It may or may not start with an 'L'," Darien adds, making Caelia and him laugh to themselves. Although I know they mean Liora, I won't entertain their nonsense.

"Are you two done?" Darya snaps, the tension between Darya and the pair from District Two making itself more apparent. I don't blame Darya either, since Caelia and Darien are kind of grating. "You can be children on your own time."

"This is mytime, Darya," Caelia quips. "I didn't volunteer for someone else to take the spotlight."

"That will get you killed," Darya mumbles, but I see this as a time to stop their fighting. It's annoying, and to be honest, it's not funny anymore. I used to joke around too, but I realize where we are and that there comes a certain point when you have to stop.

Now, we have to get serious.

That doesn't mean I can't flirt with Liora, though. I will always do that.

But, I can't let her get in the way. I can have all the fun I want, but when it comes down to it, I still have to win. I still have to return home, to come home as a victor.

That's all I've ever wanted.

_To be something. _

* * *

**Riel Seiholdt  
District Nine Male, 16 Years Old**

* * *

Ardell stands at the same station, only a few inches from me. She's hunched over, playing around with some of the supplies here. There are crushed up leaves, some rocks, and some berries. She has her shoulder to me, and even though I prefer this whole detachment from each other, it doesn't feel right.

This is not what our mentors meant by trying to get to know one another. Dakota and Amaranth requested we work on survival skills today, seeing as it's the last Training Day and all. We've been here for about an hour or so now, and yet, we haven't said a word to each other.

Does Ardell really not want to speak?

I don't blame her.

I wouldn't want to speak to anyone here. The Careers, for example; they're all egotistical and treacherous. They lack any empathy for their allies, all being selfish with wanting to ally. They'd kill each other in a heartbeat if it meant they could win. And, if there are any other alliances here, they're all the same.

No one actually cares here. We all just want to get home – to return to our District, to our families. That's all that matters.

"Are we just going to completely ignore each other?" I ask, and Ardell doesn't even flinch or look over her shoulder. She remains on her own, crushing some of the leaves in a ceramic bowl. "Ardell?"

I understand where she's coming from with this whole detachment from anyone else. I can assure you that most people here are living for themselves, not wanting to get too attached to an ally, or make any friends, for that matter. Me?

I don't know what I want.

Do I want an ally? A friend? Or do I not want any of that? Do I want to go in alone?

"Ardell, you could at least tell me that you don't want to be friends," I say, my voice gradually getting softer and losing the eagerness. "I'm not even sure why I'm speaking to you in the first place."

"Oh? You don't?" Ardell snaps, this being the first words I've gotten out of her. "Do you think I'd want to ally with you?"

"Oh, please," I reply, getting defensive. "Who said I was interested in an alliance?"

"Why else are you here? To talk to me? To befriend me?"

And those questions stump me. Because, really, is anyone ever interested in finding a friend here? To actually start to trust someone? To want to get to know someone?

No. This is the Hunger Games.

There's no room for friends.

I'm not even sure why I'm bothering with her, anyway. I'm only doing it because Dakota and Amaranth brought up the idea, and then, it didn't seem like that bad of an idea. That's before I realized what Ardell is actually like, though. I have nothing to prove to her, so I still don't see why I'm standing here trying so hard to speak to her.

I don't have to talk to anyone.

I don't have to impress anyone.

"Right."

"Is that all you have to say?" Ardell asks, finally looking over her shoulder at me. She has a smirk on her face, a stand of her hair dangling in front of her eyes. "I was only getting started."

"As I said, you can just say no," I say, getting fed up with the way she's going on. She's acting if I was intruding on her personal time, while we were at the same station for a while. We are District partners, aren't we? Shouldn't that mean something?

Even if I don't want to mean anything, it kind of does. It always feels like there's some loyalty pact between District partners, where you would never even think about betraying them or killing them. You are from the same District and betraying your own partner would give Panem the wrong image.

But, I'm not obliged to anyone.

Not even myself. I can do what I want.

"I never said I wasn't interested in an alliance," she says, the tone in her voice shifting. "I was just asking if you thought I would want to ally with _you_."

_What does that even mean?_

"Don't try any of your little mind games on me, Ardell."

"Aw," Ardell quips, the smirk on her face growing. "Did I offend you?"

I'm really trying here, but Ardell isn't reciprocating. Is she trying to prove something here? Whatever it is she's trying to do, I don't understand it. It's just wasting time and making me get fed up with her. Why am I here in the first place, again?

I'm the one still standing here, trying to talk to her and to dive deeper into who she is.

It's rather hypocritical of me.

Turning away from her, I prepare to walk away, not sure where else this could possibly go. We'll go back and forth for a little more probably, all resulting in the same way. I tried, though, and that's something I rarely ever do. I never try with people – they're all the same. All selfish people, all with ulterior motives.

Ardell probably isn't any different.

"Where are you going, Riel?" She asks, and I stop in my tracks, not looking back at her. "We _could_ ally."

"Are you sure about that?" I ask, not even joking when I say it. From what I can tell, she's indecisive, prolonging this whole thing just so she can make up her mind. "I don't need any more games."

"This is one big game, isn't it?" She says. "But, I love games. Don't you?"

I look back, seeing that she's facing me now. She's standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin raised a little. We stand there, a grin growing on her face. I nod my head as we both go back to working with this station.

I guess that's it, then. We're allies.

And maybe she'll prove me wrong.

Maybe she'll be different.

_I doubt it, though._

_No one will ever change my mind._

* * *

**Zimmer Hexley  
District Six Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Oops."

The sound of the supplies falling to the ground distracts everyone, all of their eyes now stuck on me. The paper rolls to the ground, the wires get all tangled, and the metal bowls go rolling to the side. I step to the side, laughing out loud, waving my hands in front of me. Everyone is still looking, looking at the mess I just made from knocking this whole station over.

"Well," I say rather loudly, smiling to everyone. "What's everyone looking at?"

Everyone begins to look away one by one, and although the trainer near the station offers to help me clean it all up, I shake my head. This was my mess, after all, and I'll take responsibility for it. This isn't the first time I've ever made a mess either, so it's whatever.

I bend down to begin to clean all of the supplies up, but some of the bowls have gone too far for me to reach. Gathering all of the wires and paper together, I am then about to go for the other stuff, but I see someone standing in front of me. Two people, actually, with one being a female and the other a male.

It's the girl from District Ten and the boy from District Five.

"Hello!" I initiate the conversation, seeing the male picking up the rest of the stuff for me. "Thank you, thank you. I made a mess," I say, laughing, making the girl from Ten smile.

"We're here to help," she says, her voice sounding sweet and friendly. "This is Garret and I'm Taima."

"I am Zimmer," I reply, standing back up completely now. I nod my head, holding out my hands when Garret is done collecting the supplies I dropped and I put them back on the table. "What made you come over here? Not that I don't want you here, but no one really has spoken to me yet. I've tried talking to other people, but, nope."

"You sure do talk a lot," Taima comments, giggling. "We're here to help, like I said. Help in ways more than this."

"What do you mean? I don't need any more help – or at least I don't think so," I say back to her, confused by what she means. Does she want to ally with me? I've never spoken to her or Garret before, so why would she?

I don't mind. I like talking to people and allies could be of some use.

"Garret and I would like to know if you're interested in being a part of our alliance."

"What's in it for me?" I joke, smirking and resting my hands on the table.

"It'll make you look good," she replies. "And we can help each other survive."

Nodding my head, I say, "That sounds pretty convincing. Do you have anything to say, Garret? You seem so quiet over there. I don't bite _too _hard."

"Yeah, we'd like you to ally with us," he says, looking over to Taima who looks back at him. She nods her head, and he continues, "We'd really like it."

"Then, that's it!" I say, holding out both of my hands for both of them to shake. Taima grabs my left hand and Garret grabs my right, and in unison, we shake. "I am now your ally. May this be the best decision you have ever made in your entire life."

"I'm sure it will be," Taima utters, her voice still sounding as friendly as it did before. She's a really nice girl, actually, even if she seems more controlling than Garret. I'm not one to be a follower, so with her, I better be able to still be my own person.

I'm here to control my own actions. To be my own person, not to be a follower and conform.

Taima and Garret come closer to me, going to the station where I was just playing with. It's a bunch of wires, paper, and a few extra supplies in the bowls. I'm not really too sure what this is here for, but it seemed fun and even if I dropped it, I learned something from it. The red wire goes to the yellow, not to the green, and the paper only works with the blue.

Taima and Garret really do seem like nice people. That they would come over here to talk to a complete stranger, going right to asking them to ally. I appreciate it, though, since in the Hunger Games, allies are a necessity. I never thought about forming my own alliance, but now that Taima asked me, it worked out well.

Maybe now, I can do better in the Games. I can people watching my back, and in return, I'll watch their back.

As I watch Taima and Garret chat with each other, my mind drifts back to District Five where my other friends are. Vita, Quinn, and Adrien. I wonder what they are thinking right now. They're probably worrying about me, right? If I could tell them, I could tell them that I'm doing well and that it's not as bad as it seems.

Sure, the Capitol might be all nincompoops, but it's a beautiful urban city. It's nothing like District Six could ever attempt to be, although I did love my own District. It's just that you can't compare the two.

"What are you thinking about over there, Zimmer?" Taima asks, looking over her shoulder. "Awfully quiet."

"Home."

"I do too, but it's not good to dwell, huh?"

And maybe she has a point. The past is the past, with District Six being my past and the Capitol and the Hunger Games being my present and future. I can't do much about that, so I have to make the best of it. I have to enjoy it, put a smile on, and continue being the Zimmer that everyone knew and loved back in District Six.

I can do that. I can joke and laugh. I can have fun and smile.

What's the point of living if you don't laugh often and have fun?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And that concludes the Training Days!

Next up is the Private Training Sessions and Training Scores, so be on the lookout for that, which will be in about a week or so. Depends on if I feel like writing or procrastinating.

Anyway, questions:

What did you think of these tributes? Anyone stood out?

Do you want to see more of some of the tributes?

What do you think of the alliances? Any predictions on training scores?

And that's about it.


End file.
